THE SHIELD
by Turretwithaview
Summary: AU. Investigative Reporter and published author Richard Castle finds a cop's shield in a deserted alley and hands it in, assuming it was lost during a chase or arrest. However, when he casually discovers, two weeks later, that the missing cop is still unaccounted for, his Spidey senses tell him there's more to this story than meets the eye.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is the first chapter of the next fic I've lined up for when Moon In Scorpio is finished. Let me know if you'd like me to carry on with it. Also am willing to listen to prompts if you want to push one my way. I've set it to M for future scenes, though currently it does not need that rating. As always, comments and opinions are very much appreciated. Thanks - Turret**

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Rick Castle pulled his coat collar up, hunched his shoulders and stepped out into the January rain. The hiss of tyres on wet tarmac whispered along beside him as he made his way southwards along Chrystie Street, his feet unwittingly playing hopscotch as they stepped alternatively in reflected shop windows or darkened patches of sidewalk. Christmas was already a fading memory, 2009 still a brittle, glittering novelty which would soon become tawdry and murky as mundanity pawed it with grubby hands and tasteless yearnings.

He watched his elongated shadow shorten as the next car's headlamps closed on him and then passed him, sidestepped a puddle that caught and reflected the overhead lantern of a Chinese restaurant, a blood-red moon in a shimmering pool, raindrops disrupting the surface and reminding him of the consequences of secrets revealed, ripples expanding and touching the unknown … unknown lives, unknown consequences.

He hunched his shoulders deeper into his coat, wiped a hand over his brow, shaking wet fingers, releasing water drops and returning cold hand to warm pocket. He kept his head down, twisted his neck to view the oncoming traffic, saw the approaching gap and hopped over the kerbside puddle then jogged, zigzagging across to the other side.

Lights were less here, businesses closed for the day, darkness held at bay by lonely street lamps marching away behind and before him; isolated pools of light which seemed to accentuate their individual loneliness.

His phone vibrated as he reached the bins lining an alleyway, sentinels silently guarding the darker reaches of dismal brickwork and wall-climbing pipes. He paused, fished out the insistent device which had now accumulated an annoying buzz to the earlier vibrations. The caller's his editor; friend and occasionally, like now, a pain in the neck. His finger hovered over the _ignore_ button, and then tapped, unwillingly the _answer_ one. He stopped, looked around and took a couple of steps into the alley, finding some sort of shelter under the overhead fire escape which rose above him into the gloom.

"Rick, paper's being put to bed by six, which leaves you less than seven hours to get it done!"

"Larry, you're a pain in the ass, I told you, unless I can confirm with a second source, I'm not signing off on it!"

"Rick, I don't give a shit if you confirm with a second source or the Virgin Mary, I want that story now!" the Irish brogue getting thicker the angrier he became.

"Larry" and he can't help his annoyance showing through, "I'll get it to you when I'm ready, not before, you know that is always the deal."

A raindrop from the fire escape above landed on the side of his head and trickled its way down his neck, he jerked his head sideways and took a step back, glancing up and blinking as more drops landed on his face. He wiped a hand across his eyes, trying to tune out the heated words squawking from his phone, turned and stopped as his foot kicked something which skittered across a couple of slabs of pavement.

He was about to turn away when a glint drew his attention back to the object. Taking a step forward he bent down and picked it up. His eyebrows quirked and he cut his editor short saying "Larry, I gotta go, I'll call you back later", hitting the _end call_ and staring at the object in his hand. It was a leather wallet, unpleasantly slimy in its current wet condition, but what had caught his attention was the NYPD Detective's shield it held, the shield that must have caught some stray beam of light and his attention.

He looked around him, pulled his phone up and tapped on the torch app. Holding the phone in one hand, shielding it as best he could from the rain and gripping the wallet and shield in his other, he aimed the light at the ground, turning slowly on the spot. Bins and cardboard boxes jumped out of the darkness at him then melted away as he continued his turn. Nothing. With a shrug, he stepped out into the middle of the alleyway and began to slowly make his way up towards the far end. About half-way along he came to a stop, crouching and moving his phone closer to the ground. There was a faint red tone to the puddled water here … blood or ketchup? He wondered, glancing around and shining the light on walls, discarded cardboard boxes slowly being deformed by encroaching rainwater, a roll of worn linoleum, a few empty bottles …. nothing here. There was no point in rushing around like mad here, he decided, if it _was_ blood it had long since been deteriorate by rain and contaminated by whatever other substances could be found nearby. He doubted it would offer much in the way of clues.

Standing up again he moved further down the alley, reached the end and retraced his steps back to the entrance. Whoever had dropped the badge had probably lost it during a chase or in the struggle to detain an offender.

Slipping phone and wallet into his pockets, he walked along checking for street numbers, then headed up to the next intersection and turned westwards. The 12th precinct was only about a five minute walk away, not worth getting a cab …. even if he could find one in this weather.

Reaching the top of the steps and pushing through the double set of glass doors leading into the lobby, Castle looked around to orientate himself before crossing over to the long desk set against the right-hand wall. His shoes left squelching footprints as he crossed the worn and cracked tile floor, watched by the desk sergeant and a couple of patrolmen who had obviously been sharing a joke. The once-over he got from all three must have satisfied them, for when he reached the counter, the sergeant nodded to him and asked "How may I help you, Sir?"

Pulling out his own press credentials and then fishing out the wallet from his pocket, he pushed both across and said, "I came across this in an alley just off Chrystie Street, close to number 175, I'm assuming one of your people must have lost it there."

There had been a far from imperceptible tensing as soon as the shield had landed on the counter and Castle hid a smile as one of the patrolmen took a couple of steps away from the counter to position himself between Rick and the doors.

The desk sergeant picked up his press credentials, glanced at it and quickly compared the picture with the person standing before him. Placing the card back on the counter he picked up the wallet, ran his thumb over the shield and turned to the computer at his side. He clicked a couple of times with the mouse then glanced again at the shield and typed in the numbers.

A quick glance his way, then he picked up the phone, pressed a couple of keys for an internal line; Castle thought it was a four and a seven, before returning his gaze to the journalist. The eyes were neither friendly nor unfriendly, just pale blue and calm, but Castle got the distinct impression that if he tried to leave he'd find himself staring down the barrel of whatever sidearm the sergeant went in for.

"Detective Ryan? Donahue here, I have a concerned citizen down here who has just brought in Detective Beckett's shield, says he found it out at one seven five on Chrystie."

"Uh-hum … ok" the eyes had definitely gone a few shades colder, the hand slowly dropping the phone back on its cradle. "If you wouldn't mind waiting sir, someone will be right down to talk with you". The eyes flickered to check on the patrolmen whom Castle knew, had been carefully watching him throughout the one-sided conversation before coming back to meet his. Sergeant Donahue was not about to let him out of his sight. Castle's lip twitched. It wasn't the first time he'd been looked at suspiciously, it wouldn't be the last time either, given his propensity to get himself into awkward situations.

The desk sergeant meanwhile had picked up a radio, "Dispatch, I need a ten-seven at one seven five Chrystie Street, possible ten-thirteen in alleyway, repeat, ten-seven at one seven five Chrystie Street, possible ten-thirteen in alleyway."

He thought about asking for his credentials back and then decided to forget it, whoever was coming down to question him would want to check him out all over again. The pinging of the lift made him turn his head in time to see the doors slide open and two detectives emerge. First to reach him was the dusky, square-set latino who looked like he could take care of himself in a dustup, chin aggressively pointed his way, eyes running over him like he was some second-hand lawnmower that might be more trouble than he was worth. A couple of steps behind arrived the shorter one, pale skin, blue eyes, gelled hairdo, worried look on his face … he'd be the easier to deal with, but Castle didn't think he'd have much choice in the matter.

Sergeant Donahue pushed over the credentials and shield. The latino took one look at the shield, threw Castle a cold look and handed it on to the shorter detective who stared down at the leather wallet with the gold and blue insignia. Castle's eyes flicked back to the latino who was now scrutinizing his credentials, eyes checking him out against the photo on the card the same way the desk sergeant had done before. He was beginning to get a bit bored with all this melodrama, if some cop had dropped the shield then no big deal … if not, they'd best get their fingers out and find out what had happened.

Hardass was holding his hand out "I'm Detective Esposito, this here is Detective Ryan. Would you mind accompanying us upstairs Mister …" he glanced down at the card in his hand "…. Mister Castle?"

Castle took the proffered hand, felt the tension and hard skin, no velvet glove here he mused. He released the hand, turned and shook Irish's … he had to be with those eyes and that name … his shake was milder, less cutthroat, strong, but he'd get a second chance with this one. They stood aside, opening a space between them he was being asked to walk through, closing in on either side as they escorted him over to the lift. He stepped inside, turned, found them both facing him, cool eyes and mild smiles which didn't reach the eyes. He kept the grin off his face, tough NYPD detectives were nothing compared to crazy White Supremacy Militia or the Russian Mob let alone Somali Pirates.

The lift ground to a halt four floors up, the slight shuddering of badly-balanced counterweights adding to the overall impression of lack of funding. Both detectives stepped out, backwards, waving him out into the cramped space between them. Irish took the lead, heading over to a group of three empty desks, Hardass in close attendance behind, like a couple of destroyers escorting a troublesome merchantman. They reached the group of desks, Irish indicated the visitor's chair next to the middle one and Castle took the seat.

Irish slotted himself in behind the desk and Hardass propped his ass on the edge. He was looking down at Castle, imposing himself, taking the high ground and setting himself up for dominance, standard technique for this kind of situation. Castle kept his face expressionless, casually looked around the pen, taking in the cacophony of multiple conversations, the smell of damp, of stale sweat, of fear and despair which seemed to pervade the place. By turning his head to the left he was able to observe the third of the desks, the black and white DET. BECKETT plaque next to the carved elephants, the blue mug next to the legal pad … a cough brought his attention back to the two detectives, "Could you please tell us how you came across Detective Beckett's shield, Mister Castle?"

Irish is obviously playing good cop Castle thought, being polite, calm. He swivelled his eyes quickly to check on Bad Cop and then looked back at Irish. "I was walking down Chrystie, got a call and stepped into the alley for a bit of shelter. I must have kicked that …" he says, nodding at the shield on the desk, "…. didn't realise what it was at first. Once I did, I took a look around, didn't find anything other than a reddish puddle about halfway down the alley … could have been tomato, paint …" he shrugged, "Whatever it was, there wasn't much of it and the rain had diluted most of it anyway. I could have called it in, but being only five minutes away, I thought it better to come in."

"You should have called it in anyway" said Hardass, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap, tone hard, voice sharp. Something there Castle thought, how close was he to the missing cop? Long-time partners? Rookie detective? Definitely some protectiveness going on there. "The five minutes it took you to get here, we might have been able to do something!"

"I'm telling you, Detective Esposito, I looked around, there was nothing there that would make a difference five minutes earlier or five later."

"And you of course would know that because …?"

"Not my first rodeo Detective" Castle said, and left it at that, he wasn't about to churn out fifteen years of journalistic investigation as justification.

The ringing of the phone on the desk interrupted them and Irish picked up, he listened, face creasing in preoccupation, then set the phone down on its cradle. Looking up at his partner he shook his head, "Two units on the scene, they haven't found anything. Area's being sealed off and CSU is on its way. Unis are canvasing the area."

Hardass stood up, abruptly, nervously, "get them to pick up any security cam footage they can get their hands on. You, me and Mister Castle here are taking a trip down there, we need to find out what's happened to her."

At the last word, Castle's ears pricked. Her? Was the missing cop a she? That would explain some of the vibes he'd been picking up, especially from the latino. He thought about objecting, he'd done his civic duty, reported and handed over the cop shield he'd found. He had better things, more interesting things to do than revisit a dank alleyway in a Manhattan downpour. Then, with a resigned sigh he stood up, damp hair, damp coat, damp shoes be damned, he was better to get this over and done with, then he could head home to a long bath, a long whiskey and maybe a long-legged brunette if she felt like coming over tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Still 'feeling' my way into this new fic, carried out some minor edditing on Chapter 1. I'd like to know your opinions on how it strikes you ... what you like or don't like about it. Still working on _Moon in Scorpio_ so this one will be built up a little at a time, depending on my 'writing mood'; I'm trying for a slightly edgy tone to this story, let me know if its doing it for you or not :) Thanks.  
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**_Chapter 2 – Disappearance_**

Stepping out from the back of the cop car, Castle paused to take in the scene. Yellow police tapes twisted and curled in the glare of portable floodlights, blue, waterproof uniforms glistened with raindrops and silvery equipment cases cast hard shadows against harshly-lit concrete and brickwork. He followed the two detectives, ducked under the raised yellow tape and stopped beside them when they reached the crouched, chocolate-skinned beauty with the worried eyes and her umbrella-toting assistant.

"Anything Lanie?"

A shake of her head and then she straightened up, waved at them to follow her and led them to where he was sure he'd earlier found the red tinted puddle. Now that he can see her back, he can make out NYC OFFICE OF CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER … he's surprised they were able to get that much text on such a small jacket. Taking a flashlight from her pocket she clipped a coloured filter to it and shone it on the ground. A watery fluorescent purple stain appeared. Turning the flashlight off she turned to the latino and said "The luminol shows its human blood, but the amount is small, not life-threatening, I'll know if its hers or not as soon as I get back and run a DNA test on the samples I've taken."

Castle observed the interaction, Hardass and the petite … what? ME? … have something going, he's sure, it's in the little things, the exchange of looks when they'd arrived on the scene, the way they were standing just that little bit too close right now … his observations were cut short as Hardass said "Let us know as soon as you've got something, meanwhile we'll just have a final word with Mister Castle back in the car."

At the mention of his name, Castle caught the look of surprise from Little Bubbles …. he can't help grinning to himself as he tags the ME with that, it was his way of filing people away in his mind …. maybe she was a fan? The detectives were indicating he should precede them and he was happy to head back to the car and get out of the rain.

He climbed into the back of the Dodge Charger Slicktop, pulled the door closed behind him and hunched his coat tighter about his neck. He'd had enough of this, wanted to get home. The two detectives climbed into the front, turned round in their seats to face him and he stared right back. Assholes wanted to play tough; they could look for some other player.

"Anything else you might have remembered Mister Castle, something you might have forgotten to mention?" He looked coolly at the detective, not even bothering to shake his head, a raised eyebrow his only reaction.

Hardass sighed, stuck his hand inside his coat, pulled out a card, checked it and then handed it over the back of the seat. "You think of anything else, just gimme a call" It might be worded as a request, but he got the distinct impression it was an order. _Fuck you too_ he thought to himself.

He'd got his hand on the door handle, about to push the door open when Irish stopped him, "Don't leave town over the next few days, will you Mister Castle?" there might be a tight smile on the face, but the boyish blue eyes were as cold and tough as they were ever going to get. He shrugged, not deigning to answer the veiled threat, pushed the door open and climbed back out into the rain and the murk.

He'd walked three blocks before he'd found an empty cab willing to stop. When they pulled up outside his building, Castle debated with himself about adding a couple of extra bucks to the tip. The guy was just doing his job, shouldn't be required, but he was just thankful to be back, so he folded them over the fare, and handed it through grill. The cabbie acknowledged with a tipping of fingers to the head and pulled away as soon as he'd clunked the door closed.

Castle looked down at his soaking shoes and shook his head in rueful amusement, a fool and his money he ruminated, pushing open the door to his building and stepping through into the relative warmth.

He stood by the window, whiskey glass in hand. A hot shower had returned warmth and feeling to his body, the warm, comfortable clothes sat well on his large frame, though he wasn't really conscious of the fact at the moment. His face looked back at him, reflected and distorted in the glass of the window, rain washing across his features in irregular rivulets.

He took a sip of whiskey, turned and headed back to his desk. The recent evening's events pushed to the back of his mind as more important, more pressing matters were considered. The article on corruption amongst the city's building inspectors was finished, names named, dates checked, ringleaders identified … just one element left to be confirmed, the name of the councillor getting the kickbacks. He checked his watch, ran fingers through still-damp hair, his contact should have called by now, should have had the piece of paper with the signature that would signify the final nail in the collective coffin.

His phone buzzed for the umpteenth time, for the umpteenth time he looked at the caller ID. Another missed call from the Leprechaun. Larry was being a proverbial pain … he always was … it was his job, but Castle refused to go to print without the proof, without the full story. It was why he was lead writer, it was why his picture appeared at the top of his page, it was why his face appeared on posters on the side of buses and advertising hoardings … well one of them at any rate.

With a sigh he looked around him, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and set the glass down on the desk. He walked quietly down the hallway, reached the slightly ajar door and carefully pushed it open. The widening patch of light from the hallway crept across the floor, crawled over the mat and then climbed up the side of the bed. He stopped moving the door just as soon at the light reached the blanket folded over the foot of the bed. Moving inside as quietly as he could he paused by the bed, let his eyes adjust to the gloom and then he crouched down.

Small hands clutched the rabbit tight. Pale, freckled skin poked from behind the cloth ears, eyes closed, stubby nose pressed against the pillow. He desperately wanted to push the tangled hair back off her face, let his now adjusted eyes take in her innocence. Carefully, so as not to wake her he leant forward, dropped a gentle kiss on her head and just as quietly made his way out of the room, pulling the door to behind him.

Back in the sitting room, he checked the phone once more. Nothing. He poured himself a second drink, carried it over to the coffee table and settled down on the couch. The room was mainly in darkness, golden pools of glowing light round a few of the lamps; enough to let him find things if he needed them, to avoid tripping over and knocking into furniture and waking the innocent.

He picked up the book from the corner of the table, adjusted the lamp behind him slightly so the light fell on his lap and opened it at the marked page. Benjamin Graham's _The Intelligent Investor_ was proving to be both helpful and heavy-going. Castle was not a numbers man, numbers weren't really in his DNA; words were his thing, not numbers. But he needed to understand the science behind investing, needed to have at least the basic weapons in his arsenal before he started his next investigation, the stories he was hearing, if they were true, might get him the Pulitzer at last. He already had a Peabody, several Polks, an Edward R. Murrow Award, even a Kiplinger one. But the Pulitzer would look just great on the piano, he grinned to himself.

The vibration of his phone on the desk drew him out of the complexities of _Stock Selection for the Defensive Investor_ and he placed the book on the couch, quickly got to his feet and grabbed the phone. A quick glance at his watch told him it was well past two am, so he went into his study, closing the door quietly behind him before answering.

The voice on the other end was apologetic-defensive, claiming complications and astuteness. Castle had heard it all before, about a hundred times probably. He was quick to appease, clamping down on his irritation and allowing his voice to show only encouragement. The meeting place was to be changed, the time as well, fees now going to have to be doubled.

Castle propped himself against his desk, took several slow, deep breaths and started negotiations which had supposedly already been settled. Ten minutes later the two thousand dollar demand was down to twelve-hundred, two hundred more than had originally been agreed, three hundred less than he had been expecting to have to hand over.

Arrangements were made to meet at the Good Food Diner, an all-nighter between 7th Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas in West Village. Opening the safe he pulled out an envelope and counted out the one thousand two-hundred dollars. He counted out a further thousand, just to be on the safe side and set it on a separate pile. Placing the twelve hundred in one envelope, he slipped it into the inner pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of the chair. The other thousand he split into four equal packs and stashed them in different pockets of his pants and jacket.

He pulled the jacket on, checked he had his phone in his pocket and quickly scribbled a note. He stepped out of the study, quietly tiptoed down the hallway to the last door and pinned the note on the board opposite.

Slipping into the still damp overcoat, he grabbed the car keys with the old Pontiac fob and made his way down to the street, eyes already feeling gritty, mood as miserable as the weather outside. The car was parked round the corner and he was soon sliding into the driver's seat, the smell of damp carpet and old plastic permeating the interior. The engine finally caught on the third try, smoke billowing from the exhaust until the engine temperature and automatic choke had played their parts. A quick check for traffic and he pulled out, wiping the side window with the back of his hand so he could see out.

He parked two blocks down and on the opposite side of the street, turned the engine off and settled back to wait. The ticking of the cooling engine and the whisper of tires on tarmac from passing cars were the only sounds to be heard. He cracked the window open slightly, wanting to avoid the build-up of condensation inside the car, a dead give-away. He hunched down into the seat, adjusted the mirror so he could keep the diner in sight and pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck.

He was beginning to wonder if his contact would turn up when he spotted him approaching the diner. Furtively, like some two-bit actor in a B movie, his contact looked around and then climbed the steps to the diner, pushing the door open and disappearing inside. Castle waited, counting the minutes, eyes flicking between the rear-view mirror and the wing mirror, checking first the diner, then the street behind him.

He let ten minutes pass, his contact would be getting nervous now, wondering if he would turn up or not, beginning to think that maybe he had asked for too much money, worrying that he was going to end up with nothing but the piece of paper in his pocket.

With a last check in the mirrors, Castle climbed out, settled his coat around him and crossed the street towards the diner.

The door pushed open to show a desultory-looking place. An elderly waitress with tired eyes and even more tired makeup stood behind the counter, forearms propped on it whilst she disinterestedly turned the pages of a magazine. Half-way along the counter, an old man in rough clothes sat staring into the depths of a cup of coffee, his future probably as black as the contents of the cup.

Four youths, looking bleary-eyed and hung-over were sitting at one of the tables, half-finished plates of greasy food sharing space with empty glasses and half-hearted conversation. He turned and spotted his quarry at the furthest table from the door, nervously fidgeting and in two minds about waving his arm in his direction or not. Castle reckoned that in his current state he could probably get the document for half the original price.

He moved down the counter till he reached the waitress, leant an elbow on the green, faux leather padding running along the counter's lip and letting his best smile parade its way across his face he dropped a couple of dollar bills on the counter and asked politely for a coffee. His smile, his politeness or more likely the dollar notes, seemed to work. With a deep sigh, the waitress straightened up, turned lethargically to the hotplate and poured the muddy-looking coffee into a cup which looked like it might have been around when Roosevelt was President.

His "Keep the change" barely caused a blink and he had to smother a grin as he made his way towards the far table. He slid onto the bench seat and looked across at his fidgeting contact. He waited, saying nothing, taking a sip of coffee and grimacing as the bitter, over-stewed liquid hit his mouth. Pushing the cup aside he leant his elbows on the table, hunched his shoulder up a bit and leant forwards.

He knew the effect it had, Castle was a big man, heavy shouldered, add a jacket and coat to that and assume a slightly menacing pose and your average Joe was likely to feel intimidated … he didn't like doing it this way, but when they tried to re-write the rules half-way through a deal … well, he wasn't the one who had started it.

"Do you have it?" he asked

The man nodded, looked around nervously, then pulled an envelope from a side pocket. He hesitated, reluctant to let go of his meal ticket. "You … you got the money?" half question, half trepidation.

Castle nodded "Let me see the goods first, if they're what we agreed, you get your money."

Reluctantly, he handed the envelope over and Castle slid his finger inside, pulled the single sheet of paper out and quickly looked it over. The signature appeared to be correct, as close as he could tell to the one he'd already seen. He slowly folded it up and slipped it back into the envelope before sliding his hand into his pocket and removing the envelope with the money.

He gripped it when his contact went to take it, holding it firmly and adding "Don't count it here, go to the gents if you're going to do it. Also, I don't like people who go back on deals. So this is the last time we'll be doing business, understand."

With that he let go the envelope and slipping the document he'd come for into his pocket he stood up and made his way out. He checked the street before walking down the steps to the sidewalk and quickly crossed to his rain-spattered car.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3 – Morning Edition_**

Castle stepped out of the lift onto dark-blue, going worn-grey carpet. Left of him, the reception area held a handful of empty chairs below a display of the paper's milestones; scoops and sensational headlines, anniversaries and historic affairs, over two hundred years of the World's and New York city's history on off-white paper behind matt glass and coal-dark frames. To the other side stood the modernistic, plastic and chrome counter behind which Bonny, their receptionist dealt with visitors, both the wanted and unwanted ones. Helga, the office manager was leaning over her shoulder, a sheaf of papers in hand and they both glanced up.

He gave them a smile and got two in return. That from Bonny was no surprise; she was a sweet Colorado girl with a cheerful disposition and an interminable supply of blue jokes. From Helga, it was a different matter. As far as anyone knew, he and Larry were the only ones to be granted smiles. Helga ran the floor with tight reins and Prussian efficiency, something which made the accountants and editors happy, but which caused ruffled feathers amongst the others. Known behind her back as Hindenburg, there was a permanent pool on how long before someone would shoot her down in flames.

He pushed through the glass doors beyond and into the press room, a long, brightly lit space of crowded cubicles, of rows of desks piled with flickering screens and hastily stacked folders, of coat-hung chairs which even at this early hour were mostly occupied. Phones rang, voices chattered, keyboards clicked and throaty calls from sleep-tainted editors intermingled with the buzzing background noise of a paper at work.

Simon from the sports desk saw him approaching and without removing the phone clutched between ear and shoulder or the chewed pencil from his mouth, pushed his chair away from the desk and 'fed his birds' as he walked past.

Castle reached his own desk, slipped out of his coat and dropped it over the back of his chair. Without sitting down he turned on the computer, grabbed the stack of pink and yellow notes and headed towards Larry's glassed-in office in the corner, the bottom half frosted glass the top clear, the word EDITOR stencilled across the top half of the door.

He didn't bother knocking and just pushed the door open, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and flicking through the notes. A few of these he slipped to the back of the pile, to be dealt with, most he just screwed up into a ball and threw at the nearest bin, which happened to be Larry's. About half his shots went awry, the paper balls bouncing off the edge of the basket or missing all together and rolling around the floor.

The Leprechaun was getting steamed up, it sounded like the usual daily report to the owner. Larry had little time for people who interfered in his running of the newspaper, whether it was his boss or some government lackey. There _was_ a certain, grudging respect where the boss was concerned, but that didn't stop Larry from feeling that any interference was a direct challenge to his authority. Castle grinned and pocketed a handful of notes, chucking the last of the screwed-up ones at the bin, only to see it hit the side of the desk and bounce off and under Larry's foot.

The Irishman stopped pacing, glared at him and then kicked the offending ball of paper towards the bin before resuming his back-and-forth pacing. Eventually the phone got slammed down into the cradle and Castle flinched in sympathy. Larry flung all of his five foot five, hundred and sixty pound body into the chair behind his desk, the seat's back rising above him like some throne from one of the latest Hollywood movies. Indicating one of the visitor's chairs with his chin, he pulled open a drawer and pulled out a box of cigars.

Castle thought of running out and grabbing a coffee, but decided against it. For him it was early morning, for The Leprechaun who'd probably been here since three or four in the morning, it was mid-day. Castle took a cigar from the proffered box and slipped it into his shirt pocket next to the folded notes.

"Seen it?" asked Larry. Castle nodded, he'd picked up a copy from one of the stands and glanced through his article on the way here.

"How's your mother?" The change in topic caught Castle by surprise. He knew Larry had a thing about actresses (he refused to succumb to the modern fad of calling them actors) from the old days. Not that either he or Larry would dare say 'old days' within hearing shot of Martha Rodgers, but Castle remembered with amusement the few times his mother had called in when he was working late, Larry almost tripping over himself in his haste to welcome her. He kept the amusement off his face.

"She's fine thanks Larry, got a part in Angela's Mixtape at the Ohio, they're opening in three weeks" and watched as Larry slit his eyes, storing the information away, no doubt he'll be calling in to see the show.

"What are you working on now?"

"One of Wall Street's movers and shakers seems to have bet on the wrong crops or whatever, rumours are the shortfall's in the billions."

"Shit Rick, since when is that news?" asked his boss disgustedly.

"Since there's the possibility he knew they'd fail and sold his own stocks to his clients. Been siphoning the money off into a Swiss account."

The Leprechaun stilled, eyes boring into him, cigar no longer waving around, the predator smile slowly spreading. "How good's your info?"

"Reliable" was all he was willing to say right now. Larry nodded, took another puff on the cigar and closed his eyes in meditation. There was a knock on the opened door and the eyes slipped open even as Castle turned his head to find Helga in the doorway.

"Meeting in ten" she said and turned to walk over to the conference room. Larry checked his watch. The editor's meeting was held each day at 10 am to plan the day's coverage.

With a scowl he pressed the cigar into the ashtray till he was satisfied it was no longer burning. Pushing up from his desk as Castle stood too he paused, looked at the writer and asked "You going to be at the Mayor's Ball on Saturday?"

Castle nodded, "Yep, Bob asked me to attend, something about the PBA Widows' and Children's Fund. Seems the NYPD needs my cash, or at least the cash my charming self might generate."

Larry snorted in disdain, "If I didn't know our page six is as full of crap as the next one, I'd even believe you."

Castle laughed as he followed Larry out of the office, watched him head off towards the room where the paper's editors were all gathering to decide on 'the wood' for today's headline … which would actually be tomorrow's. He sat at his desk, pulled out the sheaf of papers from his shirt pocket and began making calls.

A couple of the calls involved meetings, and these were always preferably held away from the paper, leakers and informants always of more use if they could be kept anonymous. He checked his watch, half-one already. He got to his feet, turned off his computer and checked there was nothing of interest left on his desk or in the waste paper bin. Pulling his jacket on he waved a few goodbyes, took the lift and headed down to the ground floor. Instead of turning and walking out through the main reception area, he headed back, through the heavy, sound-proof doors and into Sparky's domain.

He dodged round one of the forklifts carrying one of the massive rolls of paper that could easily crush a person if they were to get caught under one, and made his way round the side of the heavy printing presses which were currently churning out the evening's edition. He found Sparky about halfway down, hand-signalling an operator whose hand hovered over one of the buttons on the control panel. Talking was just about impossible when the thundering presses were in full swing, a few shouts and long established signals being the preferred method. The operator nodded, turned back to his machine and Sparky spotted Castle standing a short distance away. Nodding to him he signalled towards his office and Castle followed him in. closing the door behind him. The level of noise inside the minute office was a big improvement, the threshing of the presses dimmed by plasterboard walls and security glass.

Castle pulled out a couple of Knicks tickets and handed them over. "Tell him thanks, it was useful". Sparky nodded, tucked the tickets into his wallet and opened the door for them to step back out. Deciding not to head all the way back through to the front of the building, Castle turned left and ducked out through one of the loading bay doors and round into the carpark. Checking his watch he realised that he'd just about have time to make the two meetings before having to pick up Alexis from school. Pulling the seatbelt down, he started the car and drove the silver Buick Regal out through the gates, turned left and blended into the traffic heading north.

He stood by the gates, nodding pleasantly to a number of the other parents who were, like him, waiting for their children. The 4:30 bell sounded and minutes later a mad rush of kids made their way out like wildebeest heading for the crocodile infested river … he couldn't help grimacing at his imagery, then the grimace turned to a big smile as he spotted the redhead rushing towards him. He bent down, scooped her up into his arms and swung her round in a circle which had her giggling and struggling as her backpack threatened to slip off her back. "_Hello Pumpkin, had a good day today?_"

His six-year old daughter wrapped both her hands round his as he set her back on the ground and her blue eyes lit up as she told him of her day's activities whilst pulling him along towards the car. He buckled her into her seat, checked her backpack was on the floor next to her (he'd once driven off and left it on the sidewalk), and closed the back door. Climbing into the front, he drove back towards their place and into the underground parking.

He spent the rest of the afternoon helping her with her homework, in-between working on the chapter which he just couldn't get right, it was about the fourth or fifth edit and he still wasn't happy, and then playing a couple of games of Chutes and Ladders before getting them both dinner. He checked his watch for about the third time and gave a silent sigh of relief when his mother finally walked through the door.

"Grams! Look what I did at school today!" and with a rueful smile at her son, Martha Rodgers settled down on the couch, hugged her granddaughter to her side and admired the drawing of the horse and rider. She gave him a grateful nod when he handed her a glass of wine and then turned back to the girl.

Castle headed for his office, pulled out a sheet of paper and made a note of where he expected to be over the next few hours, listing places and times. He would much rather be staying at home, putting his daughter to bed and working on either his book or the story … well, given the way the book was going, probably the article. With a sigh, he stood up went out into the sitting room where his little girl was leaning against her grandmother and watching The Muppets. He waved the sheet of paper at Martha and then walked down to the end of the hallway, pinning the sheet on the cork board opposite his mother's bedroom door. She often claimed it was their line of communications, especially when he was off investigating some story or other.

He changed into a pair of well-worn jeans, shirt and a thick sweater, before pulling on a long dark coat. He grabbed a cap, folded it into his coat pocket and went back out into the sitting room. Crouching down by the couch, he hugged his daughter and kissed her goodnight, telling her he'd already looked under her bed and there were no monsters. She looked at him seriously, nodding and then threw her arms round his neck, "Be careful Daddy" she whispered into his ear and he nodded, kissed the top of her head and told her he'd be extra careful, even though he was only going to meet some people to talk about work. She didn't seem to be too convinced and he realised he'd have to vary his 'street' clothes, his little girl had obviously cottoned on to his current outfit. Standing, he dropped a kiss to his mother's cheek, another one to the top of his daughter's head and headed to the front door.

He paused by the key rack, plucked the Pontiac keys from next to the Buick's and opened the door, turning, he blew a kiss at the occupants of the couch and pulled the door closed behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4 – Mayor's Ball_**

Castle gave his bow tie another tweak and sighed as he looked out the window. He'd rather have just grabbed a cab, but tonight he was there as Richard Castle writer and not Richard Castle journalist, and the City Hall pimps wanted him to auction off some of New York's finest for the dance, so here he was, in a limo with too soft springs and too much empty space and too much time to dwell on his own thoughts.

On another occasion he might have called one of the darling bachelorettes with vapid views and arm-candy IQs, but tonight he'd be too busy to fend off the sharks; last time he'd watched from the stage as a silver-haired fox with an overlarge Rolex had whisked his evening's paramour through the doors and out into the night. His lips twitched in amusement as he remembered the relief … up to that moment, conversation had been stoic, to say the least.

The car pulled up at the curb and he blinked as flashbulbs started going off even before he'd opened the door. Sighing, he plastered a smile on his face and stepped out onto the blue carpet … well the ball was for the boys in blue, a genuine smile flittering across his face. He spotted Mitch, one of the paper's photographers amongst the camera-toting phalanx of reporters and celebrity-catchers and threw him a wink; the paper would no doubt run with a few column inches on the occasion, the Leprechaun never one to waste free publicity.

He was met at the entrance by the Mayor, Robert Weldon, the Commissioner of Police, Frank Reagan and Jim Lynch, the head of the PBA. They shook hands, asked after each other's families and then he was ushered past them and into the large, red-carpeted lobby of the Edison Hotel. An assistant handed him the evening's program, indicated the way through to the Ballroom and told him he would be shown to his table by one of the staff.

He paused by the entrance to the ballroom, looked around in appreciation. It was his first visit and the place was striking to say the least. Though obviously refurbished, it still retained an air of its 1930s classic "art deco" style. The floor was walnut-brown wood, the large, round tables covered in dark blue or black tablecloths; difficult to make out the colour in the present lighting. White plates and yellow napkins stood out against the dark cloths and lights bathed the columns and ceiling in purple … he'd have never gone for the colour combination if asked, but he had to admit the place looked curiously elegant and up-to-date.

Over in the far corner he could make out a bar already surrounded two and three deep, blue dress uniforms mixing with multi-coloured civilian outfits. A young cop, probably cadet, made his way hurriedly to his side, clipboard brandished like a staff of office, politely but firmly requesting a name; obviously not a fan, Castle mused. Checking him against the list brought a slight change in attitude, perhaps the seating arrangement indicating something. Castle followed him to one of the tables near the front, close to the stage. His escort did a quick sidestep round the table, spotted his place card and half-pulled the chair out for him.

Castle nodded his thanks, memorised the C. Gibbs on the guy's name bar and dropped his coat over the back of the chair. He made his way over to the bar and edged his way through the crowd until he felt the padded edge under his ribs. He turned his body sideways until he could get a decent view of his fellow watering-hole visitors, leant an arm on the bar top and asked for a Laphroaig, holding it up to admire the colour when the barman pushed it over. He grimaced; purple lighting gave ten year-old whiskey a weird colour … well, at least it didn't affect the taste.

A bump to his elbow brought his head round and mutual apologies froze. A surprised Hardass was staring at him, beer in one hand, red-bedecked, coffee-coloured ME on the other. Little Bubbles stepped forward, a sweet smile on her face, humour in her eyes, strain on her face, and he was straightening up and turning to meet her.

"Well Mister Castle, I didn't expect to meet you here" hand held out, face turned up, eyes appraising. Auctioned-off livestock sensations aside, Castle thought he could grow to like the little lady. A quick glance at her companion and the words Prickly cactus came to mind.

Taking her hand, he bowed slightly, pulled out the hundred-watt smile and said "Nice to meet you again … Lanie, isn't it?" Surprise flickered across the almond eyes, a dimple appeared and he could swear she was blushing. Deciding he had probably taken this as far as was prudent, he let her hand go and turned slightly to face the Detective who's dark eyes were glaring at him. It required little imagination to guess at the thoughts behind those dark pools, but Castle kept an easy smile on his face and asked "So, has your Detective Beckett turned up at last?"

It was meant to lighten the mood, but instantly he realised it had had the opposite effect. The Latino reacted as if he'd been punched in the guts, shoulders hitching forwards slightly, knuckles white around the beer bottle, eyes suddenly hooded. The ME clutched both hands around the detective's, took a step in towards his side like they needed the support of each other. Ok, that was not how it was supposed to go!

"I'm sorry, I … I … assumed she was back with you …" he's suddenly not too sure where to take this, has she been found, dead? Is that why the reaction?

Lanie shook her head, looked from the Detective to him and the strain he'd noticed earlier on her face was now more pronounced, "We don't know what's happened to her, no one's seen …" she's brought to a stop by the sudden grip of the Detective on her arm, the warning look not lost to Castle.

Surely she couldn't still be missing, it didn't make sense … he'd seen nothing on the news, hadn't heard any comments on the newsroom floor, after all, it wasn't like a cop could go mysteriously missing and no one hears about it, right?

The Latino was back on his game again, eyes looking him over slightly contemptuously, "Don't worry Mister Castle, we'll find her" and he'd taken the ME's hand and led her away towards the tables. She threw a quick glance at him over her shoulder, a mix of apology and worry in her eyes and he let himself fall back slightly against the bar. Absentmindedly he picked up his glass, took a sip and turned his head to observe the room. The tables were beginning to fill up, the crowd at the bar somewhat thinner, a mix of civilians and uniforms were making their way in from the lobby outside.

He worked back over the last days to his evening in the rain … twelve, thirteen days ago? Was it as much as that? He'd been so busy … but it still didn't make sense. Could she have been undercover? Was that why the NYPD weren't making a song and dance about it? A general shuffling brought his attention back to the room. The Mayor and the Comish were being led towards their table. Castle had no objections to making grand entrances, it was something he'd learnt to make the most of at an early age, but outdoing the City's Mayor and top cop weren't likely to earn him many brownie points. He drained his glass, set it down on the bar and made his way over to the table, arriving a few seconds before Bob and Frank.

The evening wore on and despite his best wishes, it was soon his turn to auction off the 'volunteered' cops for the dance. He walked up to the lectern, adjusted the mike and squinted against the lights as he waited for the applause to die down, the Master of Ceremonies having given him a pretty good introduction to the crowd.

"Well ladies and gentlemen, Cops and Robbers … oops, wrong card there!" flicking one of the speech cards over his shoulder and getting a laugh from the audience. "Ok, I'd like to call up the first of New York's finest, a man whose moves I'm told would put Michael Jackson's to shame … the real zombie … all the way from the 32nd precinct, would you give it up for Detective Gino Bianchi!"

A young policeman made his way up onto the stage amongst cat-calls and whistles, a big smile showing perfect white teeth and having shaken Castle's hand, did a moonwalk over to the side of the stage, raising a cheer and even more cat-calls.

"Well ladies … and gentlemen of course …" more laughter, "… can I start the bidding at one hundred dollars? One hundred dollars for a chance to get up close and personal to Detect… Yes! Thank you! The lady in red at table number four … one hundred, can we have two … thank you, the lady at table number twelve … and three, is that three hundred? Yes! Thank you to the gentleman at table six … and, do I see four?"

With the successful auctioning of the ten candidates, Castle was glad to get back to the table, wiping his brow with his handkerchief and sitting down in his chair. The Mayor leant over to pat him on the back, a big smile on his face, "Well Rick, that's probably the most work you've done this year"

The comment raised laughter all around the table and Castle glared at him, turned to the Commissioner and asked in a wounded voice, "Did you hear that Frank? Is that libel or not?"

The Commissioner's moustache twitched and his eyes crinkled in amusement, "Oh, I don't know Rick, you know they say the three estates should never cross, and here we are, the law, the press and the politician, if I start taking sides …"

Rick laughed, "I'll give you a full page Frank!"

"That's exactly what worries me!"

The Assistant Chief and his wife stood and left for the dance floor followed shortly by the Speaker and her husband, leaving just the Mayor with the Commissioner to one side of him and Castle to the other. They proclaimed their sadness at being without dancing partners, all three perfectly aware that the others were just as thankful to not have to get onto the floor. Several minutes later Bob Weldon pushed his chair back and stood up, shaking his head in mock disgust and leaning between the two of them said, "I'm just going to circulate a bit, don't you two start rearranging the city behind my back!"

Castle topped his water glass up and shifted into the seat the Mayor had recently vacated, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forwards slightly. Frank watched him, eyes occasionally flickering round the room before returning to fix Castle with amused curiosity.

Eventually Castle asked. "Frank, what's up with the Beckett case?"

It was said throughout the city's press corps that if you wanted to know what the Commissioner was thinking then you'd better learn to read his eyebrows and moustache, because his face otherwise, gave little away. Castle was well aware of the semi-serious side to the comment, and right now, the eyebrows were coming together like a pair doors closing and the 'tash was dropping like a portcullis.

Frank removed his gold-rimmed specs, dropped his head a further inch into his broad shoulders and directed a thirty-year's-of-you-don't-crap-me stare at Castle. "What do you know about it?"

Castle swallowed. This was the hard stare, not the version Hardass and Irish had given him in the lift. Pulling his mind back on track he said "I found her badge."

Frank nodded, "I know …. So?"

Castle initially was surprised, then realised it shouldn't surprise him. "I only just found out tonight that she's still missing. I've not been aware of anything on the news … and to be quite honest, I simply forgot all about it. I met one of her partners earlier on and that was when I found out."

Frank sighed, let his shoulders relax slightly and nodded. "Off the record?" and when Castle assented, "We're stumped. BOLOs, house-to-house, we've got nothing. FBI's been in the twelfth profiling and dusting everything short of the cat's ass … and we're still nowhere nearer to finding out what happened."

"You think it might have been voluntary?"

Frank shook his large head, "Her Captain reckons not. Says she's the best he's ever trained, and her record tends to back him up on that. He claims she's dedicated, possibly too dedicated, but she and her team have one of the highest clearance rates, and more importantly, conviction rates in the NYPD. It's not the kind of profile that fits just walking away from it all."

"What about dodgy friends?" he asked.

Again Frank sighed, well aware of the corruption cases that have plagued some of the precincts over the last few years. "Again, nothing to indicate that; she has a leased apartment, uses the department's vehicles, doesn't take exotic holidays ... in fact she rarely even takes holidays, has no extravagant lifestyle or boyfriends that we're aware of. Father's a recovering alcoholic, but again nothing unusual there. Internal Affairs and the Feds have run exhaustive searches on her financials and they've found nothing."

"So … what … she just disappeared into thin air?"

The Commissioner gave a shake of the head "Doesn't occur, Rick. Something happened to her, we just don't know what." Castle sat back and began to mull over the situation as the Speaker and her husband made their way back to the table.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5 – Inquiries_**

Although Castle tried to concentrate on following the leads around the financial scandal … alleged financial scandal, he corrected himself; the case of the missing Detective kept intruding.

Eventually, on Wednesday, quivering journalistic antennae made him take a detour round the newsroom, turning left and using the narrow gap between walls and desks rather than his more usual centre walkway past the sports desks. Reaching Jimmy Burke's domain, he settled his rump on the only corner of the desk not occupied by files and paper clippings and disorganised desktop accoutrements.

Jimmy acknowledged his presence with a nod and continued talking into the phone, apparently some contact in the ME's Office not too keen on handing over some snippet of information. Jimmy's tone became wheedling, a promise of drinks in Sheaver's and then he was jotting down something in his notepad, a grin of triumph on his face.

Castle smiled, the middle-aged reporter had been on the paper almost as long as he had, reporting on crime in the City of New York and even participating in the short-lived reality show, 'Tabloid Wars'. It got him a good bit of attention back then, but he was still working the Crime Desk and seemed to relish every moment of it.

"So, what does the great Rick Castle, Infamous Auctioneer, want with the poor old blood and guts bureau?" he asked, pushing some papers aside and making a bit more space on his desk for Castle.

"Nothing much, just wanted to see how the other half live" said Castle with an answering grin, "Anything of interest going on?"

"Just investigating a stabbing that occurred near a subway station … payback for an earlier robbery, I surmise, but nothing enough to be newsworthy … yet." He pulled a folder out, checked the name tab and slapped it down by his keyboard. Taking a slow look around the desk area to check that no one was within eavesdropping range, he swivelled his chair round to face Castle and raised inquiring eyebrows.

"You know anything about a Detective Beckett … from the twelfth?"

Jimmy looked at him inquiringly for a moment, then closed his eyes and leant back, the chair creaking as it took his weight. He was silent for a few moments then began to recite "Beckett … Beckett … Katherine Beckett … thirty years old … hot as hell and hard as nails … youngest ever female detective … extraordinary closure and conviction rates … leads one of the best teams in the twelfth … give her respect, she'll give it back, try playing her and she'll walk all over you … tends to get all the freaky cases … something about her past … uh-huh …" a shake of his head and then he was opening his eyes and staring up at Castle, "Off the top of my head that's about it, though I can look up more info if you want, but I can tell you right now Rick, you're not her type."

Castle was about to protest out of habit, but thought better of it. "Not where I was going with this Jimmy, I was just curious, met a couple of her colleagues at the Ball on Saturday … you heard anything about her recently, I mean over the last week or so?"

Burke leant forwards, rested his elbows on his knees and stared hard at Castle. "You running with something I should know about, Rick?"

He went for innocent, shook his head and added "Not as far as I know, just got an itch I want to scratch … you mind sending anything you've got on her over to my desk when you've got a moment?"

Burke stared at him then gave a slight nod, "On condition you come back to me if anything looks odd." Burke knew Castle dealt with crimes and corruption in high places, but right now he couldn't place Detective Beckett in the same neighbourhood. Maybe he should pop into the twelfth and make some small talk.

Castle stood up, nodding and patted Jimmy on the shoulder as he walked past him, "Thanks Jimmy."

Back at his desk he looked at the pile of notes and went through them, as usual, discarding those of no interest and keeping the others. He got back to the ones wanting calls, arranged meetings for later in the day and fiddled with the one from Eve … he knew what that would be about, and under normal circumstances he'd be more than willing to oblige her, but right now he wasn't in the mood for it, so he placed the note against the screen's foot as a reminder, and turned back to the newspaper clippings he was pouring through on one Rhyordan Croswell, financial advisor for Hackman and Freiberg of Wall street, via Hong Kong and Newcastle in the UK.

It was about two hours later when an intern arrived at his desk and handed him a folder about half an inch thick. Castle opened it up and stopped short as he spotted the picture which slipped out from between some printed sheets of paper. He placed a finger on it and slid the picture fully out onto his desk. It showed a woman in police uniform, and despite the pouches, truncheon and slightly baggy pants, it looked more like a cop catwalk number than what it was; a reporter's shot of a crime scene from some years back, the date and time stamp in the bottom right-hand corner stated 05/15/2003 – 11:32. The hair was pulled back in a bun, the face, sharply focused, showed intent and intelligence. He could just make out the K. BECKETT on the name tag under the shield pinned just above the left breast pocket.

He closed the folder on Croswell and locked it away in a drawer, placing the Beckett folder in the middle of the desk, he began to go through the contents. There was a career résumé, more detail than the brief summary Jimmy had given him earlier, but hardly more enlightening. The climb up the ladder of promotion was quite impressive, the photo that had slipped out obviously from her beat days. Unit Citation Medal, Department Medal of Honour, Medal for Valour … no wonder the Commish was keeping an eye on her case.

The alarm on his phone went off and checking the time he realised he was already late for a meeting, he'd have to phone and postpone, but picking up his daughter was non-negotiable, so he grabbed the Beckett folder, tidied his desk and headed for the lift.

By seven that evening he had skimmed through most of the contents of the file. The photos in particular fascinated him. Setting them out on the dining table in chronological order (admittedly a few had been positioned by guesswork) he was able to see the progression of Beckett beat cop to Beckett lead detective, the latter much more striking in heels, close-fitting pants and smart jackets. If money was being spent anywhere, it must be on the clothes he surmised.

Several of the pictures were obviously the paper's own, either Jimmy's or whichever of the three fulltime photographers he'd called on. They showed crime scenes, cordoned off areas with uniforms and patrol cars, Beckett crouched by the victim, Beckett standing talking to witnesses, Beckett leaning over while Lanie, the ME pointed something out. A couple of them showed another ME, male, receding hairline, sharp features. In most of them Hardass and Irish were either next to her, or in the background, definitely playing the boys to her boss.

He felt a slim arm sneak round his leg and her red hair appeared by his hip, "What are you looking at Daddy?"

He didn't want Alexis looking at crime scene photos, though most of them were fairly innocuous, the victim already covered up or on a gurney, but still …. nor did he want to startle her by sweeping them all out of sight and making a mountain out of a molehill, so he simply picked up one of the more innocent pictures, leant down to scoop her up onto his hip and turned to the kitchen, sitting his daughter on the counter top and showing her the picture of a Katherine Beckett in a red trench coat and dark grey scarf talking to Detective Esposito, the camera's focus on them, leaving the background somewhat blurred.

"See this lady?" he asked showing her the picture. Alexis took it from him and studied it, her mouth puckering slightly as she did, a sure sign of concentration and he smiled down tenderly at her. She nodded and then raised her bright blue eyes to his, a look of inquiry on her face, so he pointed to Beckett and said, "She's a police detective, and she's disappeared … I'm just curious as to where she might have gone."

He didn't believe in sugar-coating his work where his daughter was concerned, though he made damned sure he kept her away from the scum and crap that tended to float to the surface when he'd finished. But she understood that his work sent him out at odd hours, dressed in 'odd' clothes to 'talk' to people or even abroad for a few weeks every now and again. Alexis had a fair understanding of what he did as a journalist … she'd only been three the first time she'd spotted his picture in a paper, and he'd explained what he did in the simplest of ways. After that she'd been eager to find his picture in the days' paper, disappointed when it wasn't there.

As she'd become older and he'd branched into writing the Storm novels, she'd also become accustomed to the other side of his life, to the glam and the glitz. He was truly thankful not only that his daughter seemed to cope with both of his lifestyles with equanimity and frankness, but also for his ever-present mother who was always willing to step in when he had to go away for any length of time or step out for a few hours of an evening.

A couple of times he'd come off the worse for wear when he'd got too close to the wrong type of people and he'd booked himself into a hotel until the bruises and black eyes could be easily explained away, his mother dropping everything and taking care of Alexis for him with a simple _"Daddy's had to go away for a few days because of work, but he'll call you every morning before you go to school and every night at bedtime."_

"What's a police detective?" she asked, bringing him back to the present.

"Well Pumpkin, they're special policemen … and women. They catch the really bad guys!"

"Does she catch really bad guys?" her glance dropping to the picture before rising again to meet his, "Is that why she's missing?"

He shook his head in amazement, his daughter's ability to assimilate information and produce her own conclusions, however simplistic they might be always surprised him. He took the picture from her, turned it and studied the face which was partly covered by her short, windblown auburn hair. The picture must have been taken just as she was sweeping it behind her ear, some strands still caught in the corner of her mouth, her eyes looking over the scene behind Hardass's shoulder.

"Maybe Pumpkin, I don't really know, which is why I'd like to find out."

"Are you going to go missing too?" the voice small, a slight tremble to her mouth despite the brave tilt of her head.

Castle dropped the photo on the counter and grabbed his daughter, hugging her tightly to him even as her legs came round to clamp themselves around his waist.

"Hey honey, no!" carrying her towards the couch in the sitting room even as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. "No, there's no way I'd disappear on you! I promise!" Settling down on the couch, with his daughter in his lap, he explained that all he was going to do was find out a little about the detective, assuring her that he wasn't a policeman and wouldn't be catching any really bad guys …. he only ever caught the little, slightly bad guys … well, he didn't even do that really, he just wrote about them and then the cops did the catching!

His rather rambling incoherence seemed to do the trick and Alexis was soon in a much more relaxed state of mind, the resilience of youth wiping away the previous worries like they'd never been. The evening's distractions having pushed dinner back a bit, his suggestion of mac and cheese was met with applause and Castle discretely stacked the photos from the dining table and placed the one on the kitchen counter on the top before inserting them inside the file and carrying it back into the office.

A couple of hours later, his daughter now quietly asleep in her room down the hall and his mother freed from an evening of child caring, Castle propped his feet up on the coffee table, placed the file on the couch alongside and a legal pad on his lap.

He started off by writing her name across the top of the page in capitals and underlined it twice. Then he wrote down the basics of her life history as far as he could; year of birth must have been around 79 if Jimmy's thirty years of age were accurate. He had nothing about her place of birth, upbringing, school, or anything else up to her entry into the Police Academy in 2001. From there onwards, he had a basic schematic of her progression through the Academy, her time as a Probationary Police Officer, then as an officer, as a 'white shield investigator' and then the taking of her detective's exam, her rise through the grades from Detective Third Grade to her current Detective First-Grade.

Other than that there was little of use to him. The reports Jimmy had filed and which formed the thickest part of the contents, were crime orientated, reporting on the victims, the reason for the crime and the results of the investigations. The investigators themselves were mere by-lines; Detective so-and-so said this, Detective so-and-so said that. Nothing but bare bones, nothing to tell him what she was like (other than smart and good at her job), nothing to tell him if she was as straight as the Commissioner thought … or as bent as a three dollar note.

Below he began to write a list of things to do and inquiries to make.

What is Lanie's surname?

Where does she work?

Where the hell _does_ an ME work?!

Will she talk to me?

How can I trace Beckett's past? School records – University – her father

Here he drew an arrow up from the last suggestions to the previous question; if Lanie would talk to him she might be able to tell him something about the missing Detective. He wondered about asking Frank for a peek at her records, but on second thoughts discarded it. He doubted the Commissioner would allow it and he wasn't ready to tip his hand just yet.

He'd start tomorrow by getting one of the interns to run checks on whatever could be found relating to her; Internet, phone directories, DMV, Facebook, whatever would help to throw together a picture of the missing woman, meanwhile he'd have a talk with Jimmy, see what brains …. or bones he could pick.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6 – Compilation_**

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**_AN: By the way, I'd like to thank all of you who have left a review so far. Given that I had to finish Moon and add to this fic in between work, I have not yet got round to thanking you personally. I will do so, promise! _**

* * *

Jimmy had found out she was missing and he wasn't too pleased with him. It took a bit of sweet-talking on Castle's part; proclamations of innocence and negation of knowledge, unconfirmed rumours and overheard conversations at the Police Ball … curiosity getting the better of him … and after all, as Jimmy knew, it wasn't his area of interest.

A slightly mollified Jimmy Burke agreed to keep him in the loop, just for curiosity's sake, and Castle mentally scratched him from his list of gophers. He was going to have to use other sources. He flopped into his chair, pulled out a drawer and leant back, propping his feet on the opened drawer and chewed on a pencil reflectively.

He'd need to put up a firewall between his investigation and Jimmy's. He might have got away with it just now, but a second crossing of lines would no longer be taken as coincidence; it would be considered enemy action, and if there was one thing he'd learnt over the years, it was not to screw your sources.

If he were to use an intern to see what could be found on Beckett through social media and the Internet, he was going to have to use someone from a department not likely to cross paths with Jimmy …

Getting up he strolled round to the geeks grotto … officially the Tech section. A lot of the tech section was fed by reports from Associated Press or Reuters, however, Dave Hogue had a small team of savvy people … 'geeky nerds' never even crossed his mind … who seemed to spend all their time playing with gadgets or visiting tech shows and fairs. If he was going to get any collaboration, he was going to have to play this just right. He poked his head though the cubicle door. "Hey guys"

Dave looked up from the phone he was studying and … Haley, that was her name, gave him a grin. He seemed to recall the other guy with Jesus beard and hairdo was called Yoav or Yove or something like that but was saved from trying to dredge it up by Dave asking him "You need help Castle?"

The tone might sound dry, but the twinkle in Dave's eyes showed amusement. Castle was known for loving techy gadgets and screwing them up, the 'nerds' often sorting the problems out for him.

"Yeah, if I wanted to do a really deep search for information on someone via social media, how would I go about it?" allowing a look of innocence to settle over his face.

Dave opened his mouth to answer and then came to a stop. Castle could see the cogs turning. Dave closed his mouth, looked at his team and then back at Castle, eyebrow cocked. "Public or private?"

The question was logical, a public persona had little comeback on information dredged from social media … information on private people could land anywhere between legal limbo and libel suits.

"Public servant, but the info isn't for publishing, I just need as much background as I can find before talking to the family," the little white lie rolling easily off his lips.

Again the cogs went into overdrive and Castle kept his face hopeful. The probabilities of Dave trying to explain the procedure or deciding to get one of his people to do the research for him were heavily weighted on the second option. He watched the columnist look at Haley and raise an eyebrow. She nodded and then turned to Castle, "Who do you want looked into Mister Castle?"

"Call me Rick … or just Castle," he said giving her a hundred watt smile and watching her wilt under it, "the name is Katherine Beckett, she's a detective with the NYPD, she or one of her partners might be involved with the story I'm chasing … on the other hand she might have nothing at all to do with it, so I don't want any flares going up …"

"Don't worry Mist … umm, Rick," the blush rising up her neck "I'll be very discreet"

"Thanks Haley, much appreciated … Dave," nodding to the columnist and giving the three of them a cheerful wave, he quickly retreated back to his desk and was about to grab keys, phone and head out when a waving Leprechaun drew his attention to the editor's office.

"How's it going?" asked Larry as soon as Castle's foot crossed the threshold. Rick knew the question had nothing to do with social etiquette; as far as Larry was concerned his writer's health, social life and general wellbeing were for the Christmas party … and under sufferance. The question had only one point of focus … _where's the effing story I'm paying you to write_.

Ten years of working with the Irishman had made them both pretty inured to each other, so Rick just leant his shoulder on the doorjamb and said "Chasing rabbits" his term for researching.

His boss looked up from the paperwork he was rifling through and gave him a sceptical look. "Missing cops got anything to do with it?"

Rick was not surprised to learn that the Leprechaun knew about his inquiries, one of the reasons the paper worked as well as it did was because the chubby man behind the desk had an ear to the ground … hell, more than one ear probably. He rarely said anything, but at the first sign of friction, ego clashes or toes getting stepped on out on the floor, he would invariably have the 'culprits' in and would read them the riot act. More than one prize-winning journalist had stumbled out of the editor's office with a look of bewilderment on their faces.

"Might or might not be relevant" he said calmly, "could be something One PP might want to cover up." If Larry knew how Castle ticked, the knowledge was mutual. As far as Larry was concerned, anything that could give the boys in blue, or at least the 'jarheads' who ran the show, red faces, was going to get his approval. Castle hid a grin as the Irishman turned back to the paperwork with a nod and dismissed him with a shooing hand.

Back at his desk, he spent the next half hour making calls and setting up meetings, whether the Beckett story went anywhere or not, life continued and so did his need to find the next conspiracy, the next cover up, the next bit of political or financial skulduggery. Though the Wall Street story was temporarily on the back burner, he still needed to delve into the facts, into the intricacies of trading in Futures.

A check of his watch and he was tidying up his desk, checking for discarded notes … more than one journalist had found his story being scooped by some snooping competitor, and then he was blowing a kiss to Bonny at reception and stepping into the lift.

He helped Alexis off with her school bag, placed it on the floor and pushed the apartment's door closed, watching in amusement as the six-year-old ran down the hallway to wash her hands. Today was pizza day and they were going to do their own specials. He grinned to himself as he went to get changed, it was the only thing so far which could make his daughter postpone her homework.

When he got back she was already at the kitchen island, standing on her stool which was pushed up against the cupboard and wearing her pink apron with the words '_Your opinion wasn't in the recipe_', her eager blue eyes sparkling as she saw him.

"Ok, Pumpkin, what do we need to start with?"

"Flour, warm water, yeast, salt and sugar!" she recited, ticking each item off with her fingers.

"Are you sure about the sugar?" he asked her, allowing disbelief to show on his face. Her eyes clouded in doubt for a second then she caught on to him and placing her hands on her hips, stamped an annoyed foot on the stool, "Daddy!"

He grinned down at her, "Ok sweetheart, sugar it is!" and began to pull out the ingredients from the cupboards, turning his head to look at her as he did so and asked "Is the top clean?"

Alexis gave an energetic nod of her head and pointed to the cloth scrunched up by the sink. "That's my girl" he said approvingly as he measured out the ingredients and placed them on the counter. The previous week he'd let her measure out the quantities, but when the flour jar had slipped out of her little hands, she had been sufficiently upset despite his assurance that it wasn't a big deal, that today, he was doing it.

With the basics ready, he moved round the island till they were opposite each other and he rubbed his hands together, "Ok, Miss Pepperoni, are you ready to start?"

"Of course I am Mister … Anchovy!" Thankful that at least she hadn't called him Mister Salami, and quickly turning his mind away from all sorts of inappropriate misnomers, he emptied the two bowls of flour into two heaps on the top and then looked at her questioningly.

"We mix all these together" she said, pointing to the warm water, yeast, salt and sugar.

"And tell me Miss Pepperoni, why are we using warm water?"

Her answer came back with no hesitation and he hid a smile "'Cos it will help the yeast react better!"

They each made a well in the middle of their flour mounds and slowly started to pour in some of the water mix. Castle kept a close eye on his daughter, making sure she didn't add too much, but didn't have to say anything. Picking up a couple of forks, he handed one to her they began to mix in the flour from middle, and then gradually added the remaining water.

"Wehey! That look sticky enough to you Pumpkin?" His daughter prodded her dough with a finger and held it up proudly, "Yep, I think we can go with that!"

"Ok, now the fun begins Miss Pepperoni, who's the nasty little boy who pulled your pigtails yesterday?"

Alexis, looking up at him wide-eyed said "Sammy?"

"Ok, Sammy, now it's your turn, were going to make you squeal apples!" and began to pull and push on the dough. A grinning Alexis soon followed suit, her small hands making more of a go of the work, cheeks getting a little red as she worked enthusiastically at 'remodelling Sammy's face' as Castle referred to it.

When Castle thought he'd kneaded his enough, he asked Alexis if she could go in and just check that there weren't any missed calls on his phone. He watched her wipe her hands on her apron and then waited till she was heading towards the office before quickly prodding his dough a little to make it look messier and swapping them over. By the time she returned to inform him that there weren't any missed calls, he had finished kneading Alexi's still soft dough and was innocently making smiley faces in it. He suggested she finish off 'her' kneading while he got the bowls oiled.

They slapped the doughs into the bowls and he showed her how to fold it into itself a few times before covering them with clingfilm. "Ok Chef Pepperoni, now what do we do?"

"We wait," she said, giggling at the name.

"Uhuh, how about we wash out hands and get the laser tag out?" he asked and had to grab her as in her enthusiasm she almost toppled off the stool. "Whoa there Calamity!" helping her down safely and then picking her up so she could lean over the sink and wash her hands. Setting her back down, he said "Off you go, and no cheating!"

He made a big show of ignoring her offended look, and then she was grinning as she ran off for the laser tag gear.

Forty minutes later he was sitting on the floor, a look of gloom on his face as he stared at his beaming daughter. "That is so not fair!" he complained in a wheedling tone, "you can't shoot me from under the couch!"

"Yes I can" she was adamant.

"Oh, you can, can you?" he growled, getting to his knees and crawling towards her.

With a squeal, half of laughter half of fright she ran round behind the couch, putting its bulk between them and poking her tongue out at him.

Getting to his feet he checked the time and said, "Ok, time to go make flying saucers!"

Stripping off their gear and dropping it on the couch, they went over to the kitchen and while he turned the oven on to warm it up, Alexis peeled the clingfilm off the bowls.

Each bowl had enough to make one largish pizza and they began by rolling the dough into rounds before their final prove. Castle lightly floured a tray and they placed each round on the tray leaving a small gap between them.

"Right Chef Pepperoni, what do you want for toppings, snails, frogs legs …?"

"Eeew, Dad!" and he had to grin as she scrunched up her nose in repulsion.

Pulling open the fridge door, he began to take out ingredients, showing them to his daughter for approval. Those that didn't get her endorsement were either returned to the fridge or put to one side if he really wanted to use it.

Eventually the two rounds of dough had grown till they were touching each other and he rubbed his hands together in animated anticipation. His daughter gave him a knowing look and shook her head in disapproval, turning to the island and missing his affectionate grin.

Dusting a bit of flour onto the top, he watched as his daughter plopped her round of dough on to the counter and began using her fingers to gently stretch the dough into a flat circle, pushing the edges out to give it the size she wanted.

As soon as he was sure Alexis was coping adequately, he picked his own up and making a big show of it, began to toss it in the air, catching it and allowing the weight of the dough to stretch it out.

With an "Ooops!" he pretended to throw it in Alexis' direction, making her duck and giggle as he caught it in time. With their bases satisfactorily prepared, Alexis' slightly odd shaped one making Castle tut, tut in disapproval, they slipped them onto individual pizza trays and began to add their toppings.

"Well Chef Pepperoni, ready to stick your creation in the oven and see whose is better?"

"Of course Chef Anchovy, but make sure yours doesn't touch mine!" her nose wrinkling in disgust as she stared at his concoction.

With a grin and a flick of fingers he gave her an exaggerated bow "Certamente Signorina, tutto subito!"

* * *

**_AN: 1PP or 1 Police Plaza is the headquarters of the New York City Police (just in case). _**

**_*Also, in case you may not have picked up on it already, they neither live in the loft, nor is Alexis canon age … most of the rest will be relatively similar, but might develop differently as the story writes itself. _**


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7 – Analysis _**

* * *

The following morning, after dropping Alexis off at school, he headed straight for the New York University Medical Center. At first he'd been surprised to learn that the OCME's headquarters at 520 First Avenue were in fact part of NYU, having, for some strange reason, expected the mortuary to be housed in the police precinct's basement … probably from watching too many cop shows.

Finding somewhere to park entailed three slow trips round the block before catching a van vacating a spot. Locking the door, he headed for the corner building, entered and walked up to the desk. He watched the security guard at the desk looking him over, trying to pin him into one of the typical categories; medical staff, cop or grieving relative.

Having given it some thought the night before, Castle had decided to opt for a mix of frankness and deviousness, aware that if it came to the worst, he could always hang around outside until Lanie either arrived for or left work. However, the prospect of wasting a whole day on the off chance …

"Hi, I'm Rick Castle, and you are …?" he said, charming smile in place, friendly hand held out and totally ignoring the name tag over the pocket identifying the guard as M. Estevez. The poor guy didn't really stand a chance, almost of its own accord, his body leant forwards slightly, hand moving out across the desk to be engulfed in Castle's.

"Mike, Mike Estevez," the z being pronounced more like an s.

"Mike, nice to meet you, I'm with the Post, doing an article on the City's much tried and tested ME's Office. You know, you guys do a great job …" still shaking his hand and blatantly ignoring the fact that the guard was little more than the doorman to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, "… but no one bothers to tell our fellow citizens about it, right?" Watching the slightly bemused nod of agreement, he quickly continued, "So anyway, the other night I was talking to Detectives Esposito and Ryan over at the Twelfth … you know the guys right?" the last part barely a question, his tone assuming the guy was probably on first name terms with the cops, "And Lanie …" an almost imperceptible pause, a slight quirk of the eyebrow …

"Doctor Parish" the guard supplied.

"That's right, Doctor Parish …" agreed Castle, hoping to God there weren't two Lanies in the building, "… was talking about the long hours, and seeing the worst of what one human being can to another, and I thought, hell! Why not? Let's give you guys a bit of the glory for a change huh?"

"I guess you get to see all sorts of things going on, must be pretty interesting, huh?" Mike opened his mouth to answer, but Castle continued, "Anyway, I reckon we should get together one of these days and you can tell me all about it, what I really came in for today was to see if I could have a word with Lanie … sorry, Doctor Parish, see if maybe we could set up some interviews and stuff." Rick reckoned that by now he could tell Mike that little green men were about to take over the morgue and the guard wouldn't bat an eyelid.

"Sure, I'll … I'll just phone down see if she's available sir …"

"Rick, call me Rick" he said beaming and nodding to the guy and watching him hesitatingly smile back.

"Hi, Doctor Parish, yes, it's Mike at the desk. There's a gentleman here to see you, Mister Castle … I mean Rick, Rick Castle" getting an approving nod from the journalist.

"Ok, I'll let him know, yes Ma'am", setting the phone down and turning back to him, "Doctor Parish will be up shortly si…, I mean Rick, if you like, you can wait for her over there" indicating the seats against the wall.

"Thank you Mike, much obliged!" Turning away to the indicated seats and grimacing, all he'd needed was a Stetson and a pair of cowboy boots …

Some five minutes went past before the petite doctor appeared and Castle stood and went to meet her, smile in place, hand outstretched and attitude pulled way back. "Doctor, it's a pleasure to meet you again, though I must apologise for bursting in on you like this. Is there somewhere we could talk?"

Lanie Parish was ignoring his outstretched hand, staring at him from large, curious eyes, her own hands stuck into the pockets of her medical coat, thumbs pointing forwards like the hammers of a pair of Navy Colts. He got the distinct impression that she would shoot him just as easily as not. Having obviously come to some conclusion, she gave a nod and turned to a door a few feet down the corridor. Pushing the door open she jerked her head, waited for him to step inside and then followed him through, closing the door behind her.

Deciding that the somewhat imposing five-foot-three ME was not going to appreciate his beating around the bush, he decided to make the first strike, he needed to push her slightly off-balance, not too much, just enough to make her more malleable.

"I take it you still have no news about Detective Beckett?" the voice was soft, understanding, compassionate. It was like watching a ship being hit by a torpedo. The little ME's shoulders dropped, as did her face, she took a step back, then another until she came up against the table occupying the centre of the room. She shook her head, swallowed.

Castle took a step forward, closing the distance, keeping his hands in his pockets, body turned ever so slightly so as not to entrap her, leaving just a perception of a gap through which she could escape. "I'm sorry, I take it Kate is a good friend?" voice dropping an octave, using the detective's first name, less formal, less distant, the present tense implying survival, possibilities, hope.

Lanie gave a nod, wiped angrily at the corner of an eye, brought them up to stare at him, curious, questioning. Satisfied, he took half a step back, let air and light into the space between them, giving her a chance to regain her balance, not too much though, not just yet.

"I take it her partners, the police, haven't found any further traces of her?" Voice even, no blame being laid at anyone's door, not by tone at least. Again a shake of the head.

"Look, I don't know if I can help … but I have a lot of friends, contacts, people who wouldn't talk to the cops, but will talk to me. But in order to help, I need to know more about De… about Kate," mentally kicking himself for the slipup. "Would you be willing to meet up with me, talk to me about her, give me a picture of what she's like, where she might have gone, who might want to hurt her?"

For a moment he wondered if he'd overdone it, but then the ME nodded, let out a pent up breath and pushed herself away from the table. "You got a card?"

Castle dived into his pocket, pulled out a small stack and riffled through them. Selecting one of his private cards, the one with only his phone number, no name, no address and handed it over. Lanie glanced down at it then slipped it into a pocket. "I'll call you" was all she said as she pulled open the door and ushered him out. Without a word, she turned and headed down the passageway, white medical coat flapping round pale blue trouser legs.

Waving to the guard and calling out "See you around Mike", he left the building, mulling over his manipulation of the little ME. He didn't feel too happy about it for some reason, though he couldn't pin it down to anything specific. His job was to get information, often from unwilling or uncooperative sources. Over the years he'd developed a knack for reading people's emotions, instinctively knowing when to press and when to ease off, how to lead a conversation down a specific road without appearing to have done so. Today he'd done just that, used phycology 101 and got what he wanted … but for some strange reason it had left him feeling a little uncomfortable with himself.

The call came later that afternoon, closer to evening; a place, a time. He stood up from his desk, pulled on his jacket and walked out into the sitting room. His daughter and his mother were on the couch, the one with a Harry Potter book, the other with a well-creased script. Both looked up as he walked in, both gave him inquiring, upraised eyebrows … he wondered when the rather creepy quirk had come about. "I'm just going out to talk to someone, shouldn't be more than an hour, hour and a half at most, is that ok with you two?"

His attention centred mainly on his daughter, caught her casual, accepting nod, he was wearing his normal clothes, no 'street' clothes in sight, concern therefor in abeyance. A quick glance towards his mother took in her small, tight smile and the slight nod. Mouthing a silent thank you, he grabbed the keys off the hook and blew a kiss to the two redheads as he closed the door behind him.

The place was anonymous; anonymous name, anonymous colours, anonymous tinny music. The smell of greasy food added a layer of unwanted character to the place as he made his way between counter and tables to the corner where she was waiting for him. Large, plate glass windows looked onto 2nd Avenue, street lights stuttering on as the first tendrils of darkness seeped their way into the thoroughfare.

He pulled a chair out, settled himself down, placed his phone by his elbow and considered the ME carefully. She looked tired, faint, dark circles under her otherwise magnificent eyes, worry lines creasing her brow and adding strain to the corners of her mouth. She wore a pale blue roll neck, a dark, navy blue jacket on the back of the chair. It was the first chance he'd really had to study her properly; for herself rather than for his requirements.

Her hands were bare, slim fingers ring-less, nails long, well looked after and painted and almost translucent pink. His eyes travelled upwards, took in the oval face, the highly kissable lips, the almost button nose and large, dark eyes under straight, well-trimmed eyebrows, the dark hair parted slightly left of centre, falling to her shoulders, ends curling slightly to give a softer touch.

There was a touch of amusement in her eyes when his met them, a slightly quirked eyebrow wordlessly asking if she met with his approval. He ignored the question, hadn't missed her own appraisal as he'd settled himself down.

He looked at her cup, the steam still rising from the honey coloured liquid. "Is that drinkable?" he asked. A slight rise and fall of shoulders, a downward curve of lips her answer. He turned his head as the waitress appeared by his side, "I'll take the same as she's having" tilting his head sideways towards the ME, watching the waitress wonder off wordlessly and turning his eyes to the scene outside. A waiter stood in the doorway of the restaurant across the street, red waistcoat over white shirt, hands crossed before him, the white rectangle of the service cloth striking harsh contrasts against the black trousers.

Pedestrians sauntered past, a couple stopped at the menu in the wall-mounted case, the waiter turning his head hopefully towards them, shoulders dropping in disappointment as they wondered off.

The waitress reappeared with his tea, placed it on the table, asked if there was anything else and walked away when he shook his head. He watched the steam rising as the liquid swirled within the cup, translucent water taking on a golden colour as the teabag seeped its essence. Removing the spoon, he dropped it onto the saucer, raised the cup to take a cautious sip, set it back down before turning his attention back to the ME.

Silence was a curious thing, a tool, a weapon, a means … a device. Different people reacted in different ways. For some it was unbearable, intolerable, an assault on their ears. For others it was friendly, familiar … perhaps restful more than soothing. Doctor Parish seemed untroubled by it, a testament no doubt to the cadavers she dealt with on a daily basis. He had no doubt she could be a bundle of fun, the soul of the party … but she was also smart, intelligent, the eyes telling him she could play this silence game as well or even better than he.

"How long have you known her?" The question rumbled like thunder in the silence, not the frighteningly loud, overhead crash, more like the distant growl of menace. It sharpened the look in her eyes, made the soft mouth tighten, brought tension to the shoulders, made hands grip the cup that little tighter … subtle shifts which charged the atmosphere, made his head tilt forwards fractionally, his nostrils flare as if scenting the chase.

Her eyes dropped to the cup before her, unseeing as her mind turned inwards, moved down the paths of time and events, eyelids dropped to half closed, lashes trembled ever so slightly as she followed her thoughts, riffled through the memories … a fractional alteration before they opened wide, lifted to look at him, "Almost ten years, ever since she became a cop … she was still a rookie, barely out of training, when she caught her first violent crime … I was assistant ME at the scene … two women in a room-full of men … it was bound to happen don't you think?"

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, not willing to have anything break the sudden spell which seemed to have settled over them, an ethereal link which could easily be snapped, broken by the slightest interruption, by the sound of fluttering wings or a leaf falling to the ground.

"We talked a bit, met at a few more scenes over that first year, at the Annual Benefit Gala, even in court once …" a faint smile touching her lips at the memory. "When she made it from Probationary Police Officer to full-flown Officer, we celebrated, it was a big milestone. By her third year she was a white shield and we began to meet up more often at work … kinda led to more off-time meetups as well."

* * *

**_AN: White Shield is a Police officer who has not yet attained the rank of detective but is assigned to plainclothes or investigative duties_**


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter 8 – The Bones _**

* * *

As he sat at his desk, Castle contemplated the information Lanie had given him the previous evening about the mysteriously disappeared Detective. He'd been through everything twice, making notes as he listened to the recording on the phone; recording a conversation in a public place without the consent of the other person might border if not cross the lines of legality, but as he had no intention of reproducing it in print or using it as testimony … he could live with that kind of bamboo law.

He looked down at the bullet points he'd distilled his notes down to:

· Name: Katherine Houghton Beckett (_everyone calls her Kate or just Beckett_)

· Born: November 17, 1979 (_Scorpio: Focused, Brave, Balanced, Faithful, Ambitious, Intuitive, Jealous, Secretive, Resentful, Manipulative – according to Jane in Horoscopes_)

· Raised in Manhattan

· Parents: James and Johanna Beckett (_mother deceased_)

· Grandfather: amateur magician (_Lanie thinks he took her to Drake's Magic Shop!_)

· Baseball fan (_influenced by father according to Lanie_).

· Attended Stuyvesant High School (_you have to be gifted to get in there_).

· Spent semester studying in Kiev, Ukraine. (_Speaks Russian or Ukrainian? Independence 1991 … when did she go?_)

· Modelled clothes one summer, high school: bought 1994 Harley Softail (_Bikers connection?_)

· Studied pre-law at Stanford, (_dreams of being 1__st__ female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court_)

· Mother involved in crash on GW Bridge (_car ended up in river, body never found – nor the driver of the truck that hit her ?_).

· Transferred to NYU after mother's death to pursue career in LE (_Why that change?_).

· Beckett believes mother's death not a random accident (_Answer to previous question?_)

· Father took wife's death hard; became an alcoholic. (_How's he going to handle his daughter's disappearance?_)

· Beckett helped her father through it. (_Lanie thinks its five years … what now?_)

· Likes clothes, especially shoes and coats, Lebanese and Asian cooking, burgers, chips, strawberry milkshakes and takes her coffee with two pump sugar-free vanilla.

· Hardly ever takes holidays or days off, volunteers for duty at Christmas and Thanksgiving.

· Likes old movies, Temptation Lane and reading (_something Lanie wasn't saying about the latter?_)

· Sentimental Partners: (_As far as Lanie knows_) her training officer Mike Royce, FBI Agent Will Sorensen, recently Tom Demming, (Detective - Robbery) (_Lanie doesn't believe any of them involved in her disappearance_)

· Work Colleagues: Twelfth Precinct Homicide Squad, Dets. Javier Esposito (Hardass) and Kevin Ryan (Irish), Roy Montgomery (Captain), Det. Roselyn Karpowski, Det. Gilbert Mazzara.

· Friends: Lanie, Esposito, Ryan, Maddie (_Lanie's only met Maddie once, doesn't know surname. Short list! What does that tell me about her?_)

· Other family: Theresa (aunt) - Sofia (cousin) - (_Lanie's never met them_)

He rapped his pen on the pad in a slow rhythm which helped him concentrate. The information gave him no obvious clues for her disappearance although a few points stood out and yelled at him.

He wasn't one for Horoscopes or similar mumbo jumbo, but accepted that traits could be a help in analysing people. Whether birth signs had anything to do with it or not, he wasn't quite ready to don the hairbands and burn the joss sticks, but was willing to admit that a number of people he knew effectively showed the typical traits … and just as many didn't. However, in this case there seemed to be some obvious coincidences if he's read between the lines correctly.

From what he's been able to gather, Detective Beckett appears to be extremely focused (he's making himself think positively, applying the present tense like he did with Lanie).

She's certainly brave, there are medals and citations which confirm that trait.

There's nothing to suggest she isn't balanced or faithful. The opposite of balanced is unbalanced, but that isn't necessarily the only option, somewhere in between is a region of equilibrium which fits most humans.

Her relationships appear to end and start with sufficiently reasonable spacing between them to suggest she's not jumping from one bed to the next …. but then of course, being faithful is much more than just sentimental relationships; there's the faithfulness to family, friends, ideals. The little he knows of her makes him think she is.

Wanting to be the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and becoming the youngest female detective in NYPD history certainly shows ambition, and from what Lanie had said about her methods of detection and interrogation, she would appear to be intuitive.

There were no pointers towards jealousy … no more than anyone else as far as he can tell, but then the conversation had never got close enough to show her under that spotlight.

The fact that she appears to have only a handful of friends, that most of these are work colleagues and that they know little of her small family or her friend Maddie certainly points to her being secretive. How much is she hiding from her best friends, how much of the iceberg that's Kate Beckett is hidden below the surface? From what he could gather, Lanie is the only one of her 'friends' to have crossed Beckett's threshold for anything other than business. Did she have other friends who might pass through her doorway uninvited? Or was she as lonesome as she appeared to be … a fine line distinguishes lonesome from lonely, he thought, and not everyone wants to live life in the fiery tail of a comet.

He'll take a rain check on her being resentful or manipulative … he has nothing yet to show or dispute either of those traits.

So! He flipped the page on the notebook and started afresh. Across the top he printed PERSONALITY and underlined it twice. Pausing a moment to gather his thoughts he started to write.

Focused, brave, ambitious, intuitive and secretive cop.

Mother killed in a car accident but body never recovered.

Does Beckett think there's more to it, and therefor joins the NYPD (possible motive)

Yet there's nothing more on the matter. Has she given up?

Has she discovered something? Ten years later?

Is this the reason for her disappearance … or nothing at all to do with it?

Castle stares down at the sheet of paper and frowns, none of it really makes much sense right now. He decides to shift mental gears and look at it from a writer's perspective. First he needs to get the typical motives down and then see what might or might not fit. His pen begins to scratch on the paper as his brow furrows in thought.

Motives:

1\. Hide a secret

2\. Money/Greed

3\. Revenge

4\. Obsession, Frustration &amp; Hate

5\. Love, Sex &amp; Jealousy

6\. Crime of Passion

7\. Psychosis &amp; Mental Disorders

8\. Protect personal status

9\. Protect a loved one

10\. Empathy or Sympathy

He looked at the list of motives and compared them with what little he had to go on. He started by scratching the second option, there was nothing to show that the Detective had anything worth stealing, nor was she standing in the way, as far as he knew, of someone else acquiring wealth. Also, according to Frank Reagan, money was not a probable cause and his talk with Lanie tended to confirm this.

During his conversation with Lanie (she'd cited Detective Esposito as her source), revenge was also an unlikely motive, the FBI and Police had looked into all her case files and run checks on those she'd sent to jail or otherwise been involved with in her line of work. They'd interviewed those released over the last six months and looked for connections between those still inside and friends or family on the outside. No probable hits so far, though perhaps he shouldn't discarded it just yet.

He gave the next item on the list consideration. Obsession, Frustration &amp; Hate. He had to assume that any ill-feeling directed towards the missing Detective was work-related and therefor covered under the revenge option, he couldn't picture her being the obsession of some crazed fan or frustrated follower, she was no singer, actor, model … twelve-year-old clothes catalogue career notwithstanding. No, she didn't fit the profile, he scratched that one.

The love triangle option was also a no-go if Lanie's information was correct. The timespan between her relationships was not an obvious cause. She supposedly ended her relationship with Mike Royce back in 2003 or thereabouts and then he'd moved away to the West Coast, hardly reasonable for him to suddenly turn up seven years later and kidnap her surely? As to Will Sorensen, Lanie told him they broke up when he moved to Boston, about three years earlier. Like Royce, the timespan didn't make sense. The relationship with Demming already seemed to be petering out according to Lanie … she'd also answered his unasked question; Hardass and Irish had unobtrusively looked into his movements and discarded him as a suspect.

Likewise the Crime of Passion didn't fit. It would involve someone snapping in a fit of rage, and had she pissed someone off in that alley, there would have been a lot more blood at the scene, surely?

He decided to leave the next item on the list, crazies were an ever-present consideration, Harry K. Thaw, George P. Metesky, Rodney Alcala, Son of Sam, Heriberto Seda to name just a few. The kidnapping angle led to unpleasant possibilities. On the other hand, someone roaming Manhattan sequestering random people? FBI and NYPD would have been onto that by now and taken it into account, wouldn't they?

Protect personal status. Unlikely. Who could she be threatening? Who would need to protect themselves from whatever knowledge she had … or had recently acquired? Maybe he'd leave it there for now. Perhaps she'd been secretly investigating someone or something and gave herself away?

As to item nine, she would hardly be a threat to someone's loved ones. Again, the cops had discarded her cases, both old and current as a motive, the old ones were already closed, kidnapping her would not change that and the current cases didn't fit the profile according to Lanie.

To the final option. She wasn't, as far as he was aware, either terminally ill or otherwise suffering, nor was she standing between a patient and an Angel of Death. He'd better check on the father, though Lanie had said he was fine the last tine she'd seen him.

This left him with four possible motives, though none was particularly coherent right now.

Someone was trying to hide a secret which she was close to uncovering or had uncovered.

Someone was out for revenge

Some crazy had overpowered her

or someone was trying to protect themselves.

At least now he had some routes he could begin to follow. He flipped the pad to the next sheet and wrote RELIABLE INFO across the top before underlining it twice.

1\. Shield left as clue by kidnapper / Beckett or it was dropped accidentally. If it's the first then it's an ego thing, proving he/she/them are smarter than the cops. If it was Beckett, then she was conscious enough to drop her badge.

2\. FBI/Police have narrowed disappearance down to a 35 minute timespan (between 20:47 and 21:22)

3\. Street and security CCTV in area has been exhaustively checked by cops. Most vehicles have been traced, 5 are unaccounted for (Lanie says dirty plates, poor pic quality or overlapping vehicles … surely they can do better than that?)

4\. Records show incoming call from burner phone three minutes before Beckett left precinct. The call lasted 2 minutes and 20 seconds. Phone pinged off towers in Bowery. Has not been active since.

He studied his notes, shook his head at the little real information available and then drew a line across the page just below before continuing.

WILD GUESSES

1\. She discovered something about her mother's death.

2\. There's an (as yet) inexplicable connection to her time in Kiev.

3\. Someone is out for her (phone call as enticement?)

4\. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time (call makes no sense)

NEXT STEPS:

1\. Find out about the accident to her mother.

2\. Find and talk to Father, Aunt, Cousin; flesh out the bones.

3\. Try to interview other friends (Who's Maddie?)

4\. Interview ex/current partners … that's going to be difficult! (Maybe have a word with Frank?)

Closing the notepad over, he slipped the pen into his pocket and got to his feet. A quick check of the time and he decided he could call in to the geeks grotto, see how Haley was doing on the 'investigation'.

Ten minutes later he was back at his desk, disappointment masked as he pulled the folder from the top drawer and added the few sheets of paper. Apparently the cop was not much into social media, at least not under her real name. Haley had suggested passing it on to a friend she knew who might be able to 'discover' something more, but Castle had shaken his head. He didn't want to stir up any more shit than he could manage at the moment, if the FBI were keeping tabs on her, it was quite possible that someone trying to hack her accounts would draw attention.

Haley had found nothing under her name in Twitter, LinkedIn, Tumblr, Instagram, or any of the other usual channels, the only thing she'd found was an almost empty Facebook. Mostly it was just a few lines of poetry or lyrics posted at irregular intervals, a handful of pictures of New York at various times of the year, a few jokes and little else. Personal information was minimal and set to private, the whole gave nothing away as to her personality, though maybe a study of the lyrics might give him an idea of the kind of music she liked ... yeah! Like that would really help!

Looking at the list of 'friends' Haley had printed out, barely two dozen, three struck him immediately, one was a Theresa Holman, the second was a Sofia Holman … the third wasn't the name as such, rather the picture accompanying the name which caught his attention and made him grin. Bettyboop74 had a picture of a chocolate coloured face with kissable lips, a pert nose, large, expressive eyes and a familiar hairdo with an off-centre parting. He was going to have to remember this next time he met the ME.

He was about to close the cover on the folder when a fourth name caught his eye, again it wasn't so much the name as the Cyrillic writing just below the name Oksana Lasyk. He checked his watch. He wanted to see where those names would take him, but he also wanted to look at the press clippings on the mother's accident. He could look up what the paper had on it with a few clicks of his mouse, but he also wanted to see what other papers had to say about it, and the quickest way would be to access the microfilms in the New York Public Library. Slapping the folder closed, he locked it into the drawer and cleared his desk. If he could make it within the next fifteen minutes, he'd have an hour to go through whatever was on record before having to go pick Alexis up.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9 – Yanina - One Month Earlier _**

* * *

Rays of sunlight filtered through the slatted shutters, picking out the motes of dust that drifted in the airless room. A faint scent of iron pervaded the atmosphere, overlaying the acrid smell of vomit and human waste. Murder was not pretty she thought, glancing over to where the ME was examining the corpse.

Fiction tended to brush over the cruder aspect of death, especially violent death. The pools of blood and medium or high velocity splatters across a wall a satisfactory and antiseptic way to portray the violence of a murder, of a killing. They could never show the reality, the relaxed sphincters, the soaked pants or dress of the victim. The smell of faeces and urine mixing with the metallic smell of blood created its own, unique perfume … she grimaced at her choice of word … a smell you became inured to after a time; like the sight of bodies curled into themselves or stretched out in pleading, cowering in fear or unawares of impending doom.

Her eyes moved back to the scene … it couldn't be called anything else … the body kneeling by the side of the four-poster bed, arms outstretched in imploration, the ropes tight around the wrists and stretched taught to the bedposts. The hands were bloated, puffy, fingernails beginning to lift already, head bowed in apparent supplication, though the cut in the back of the neck might be a truer indication …

Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the CSU team who exited the bathroom, latex-enclosed fingers sealing the bag with the contents from the cabinet. He nodded to her, pulled a sharpie and began to scrawl his signature across the seal.

She turned her head back, looked out through the room's doorway at the scattering of uniforms and civilians along the hallway, a few gathered in silent groups of two or three, others talking in curiously excited tones. The wall brackets cast eccentric shadows, police cap visors casting upper faces into darkness, chins and mouths shining in the yellowish light. Silhouettes ran diagonally across worn carpet then rose abruptly up the flock-papered walls.

She sensed rather than saw the ME shifting, pushing himself up onto his feet. She turned back, nodded to the uniform gripping the police tape by the door and took a step towards the posed corpse, trying to ignore the clicking of the camera, the strobe flashes lighting up areas of the room as the photographer followed the trail of markers set out by the CSI.

The ME pulled the latex gloves off and ran a hand through his hair, turning to her with a sigh.

"What can you tell me?" she asked quietly, half her attention on the ME, half focused on the red hair behind him.

"She was killed sometime between eleven last night and four am. COD was a puncture wound in her back, between the fourth and fifth ribs, which pierced the heart, weapon was something long, slim and conical …. maybe an ice-pick or something similar, I'll know more when I have her on the table. The partial severing of the spinal cord between C3 and C4," indicating the deep incision at the back of the neck, "was perimortem, at a guess there was some function or sensation below the primary level of the injury …" glancing at her he gave a slightly helpless shrug, "… she was probably still able to breathe, but would have suffered complete loss of trunk control in the torso including pectoral, abdominal and all back muscles. Her lower limb function would have also been lost."

"You mean she was basically paralysed, but still alive?"

"That's my guess, I'll confirm after the autopsy, but whoever did this wanted her to know, wanted her to experience whatever was in store for her."

"Any clues as to what was used to cut her neck open like that?"

"Something fine and very sharp, possibly a scalpel, the edges of the wound are regular and the depth and precision of the cut would suggest medical knowledge. I'll be able to give you more once we've analysed the incision for possible traces."

She took another look around, rubbed her temples where a headache was threatening to establish itself. She nodded in resignation, "Ok, she's all yours" and turned away as the ME's assistant began to untie the rope.

She moved out of the way, back towards the bathroom as the medical team began to lower the body to the floor, shaking out the body bag in readiness. She called the attention of Tim Danko, the primary crime scene responder. He nodded, pointed out one of the markers on the window sill to the CSI dusting for prints, said something then stood up and made his way over to her.

"Detective"

"Tim," she ran a hand though her hair "how are we doing?"

He flipped back through several pages of his notebook before saying, "First responders were Officers Healey and Buonarroti. I got here about fifteen minutes later, and secured the scene. When I saw what we had, I called the DA's office, got the warrants and then did an initial walk-through. Officer Buonarroti had puked up over there …" indicating a patch of not-quite-dried vomit by the foot of the bed and unable to hide his irritation.

"According to Bob … sorry, Officer Healey, nothing was touched … aside from Buonarroti's contribution … as soon as he saw the vic, he cleared the bathroom, then got them out of the room and called it in. My initial walkthrough inclines me to think the perp entered and left via the door …" pointing to the doorway giving onto the hall, "… windows were closed and appear intact, no signs of forced entry; we're dusting windows, sills and outside ledge for finger and footprints, just in case. Potential evidence was marked and photographed on a second walkthrough, then I called my team in. I've done a video walk-through, everything relevant has been tagged and bagged … everything except the area immediately around the vic, we'll go over that as soon as they've moved her out …" as if on cue, the body bag was hoisted onto the gurney and the ME's assistant began to trundle it past them. "We'll finish off here and then get it all down to the lab." Moving away as he finished.

"Thanks Tim" and she turned to the hallway outside, "Healy! Buonarroti!" she called out and saw two of the uniforms in the hallway turn and walk towards her. The older of the two was a known quantity; Bob Healey was a thirteen year vet who had turned down promotion to sergeant at least twice, claiming he preferred driving cars to desks. His thinning red hair was currently hidden under his cap, the bushy eyebrows over bright blue eyes veiled by his visor's overcast, his pale, freckled, lower face looking pasty yellow in the unforgiving light. He was of medium height, slightly bulging belly overhanging his jangling duty belt, his walk favouring his right leg where a gangbanger had left his knife imbedded a few years back.

His companion was an obvious rookie, smart, brand new uniform, shiny cap gripped in nervous hands, uncertainty in her steps as she approached the Detective. She couldn't be more than five-five, five-six in height, dark hair pulled back in a bun, fine eyebrows over expressive black eyes, lower lip gripped by teeth in an all too familiar way. The Detective stopped, threw a look to one of the other officers who began to herd the curious back down the hall, leaving them a small island of privacy just outside the doorway.

"Bob" she said nodding to him, eyes turning to his companion.

"Detective Beckett, this is Officer Maria Buonarroti."

She took the proffered hand, noted the slightly sweaty palm, the nervous bob of the head, let a small smile of encouragement touch her lips. She could still remember her own first time at a crime scene, her own, slightly less than professional reaction. She released the rookie's hand, turned to the senior cop and asked, "What can you tell me?"

"Desk clerk called it in, vic's name, according to the register, is …" eyes flickering quickly down to his notepad before coming up to meet hers again, "Yanina Tyahnybok …" stumbling slightly over the surname, "apparently she was supposed to check out today. When she didn't make an appearance, he called up, didn't get an answer so came to see what was happening, took one look at the room and bolted back downstairs."

"Anyone see or hear anything?" she asked.

A shake of his head. "Door was ajar when we got here, desk clerk says it was closed when he came up, he can't remember closing it when he ran out. None of the other guests claim to have heard or seen anything," he shrugged, flipping the notebook closed and slipping it into his breast pocket. "That was all we were able to gather, just sat tight in the hallway here until CSU arrived …" there was a slight twitch of his lips as he added, "… Officer Buonarroti needed to use the bathroom, so as soon as Kim and Hernandez showed up, I accompanied her down to the lobby."

She nodded, "Ok, guys, thanks. You can leave now … oh! Healy, if you see Esposito down there, ask him to come up will you?" turning away and stepping back into the room.

Curiously, it looked more spacious with body and ropes removed, though the scattered yellow evidence markers and the three CSIs in white overalls filled the empty spaces. Danko and the prints specialist were either side of the carpet stain marking the victim's position. The prints guy was dusting the bedpost and Danko was using a pen to lift the bedcovers high enough off the floor to allow his flashlight to roam below the bed, the third member was placing evidence bags and envelopes into a box.

A grunt from Danko drew her attention back to him and she moved closer, crouching down beside him. He handed her the flashlight and indicated where he wanted it shone, picked up the camera, adjusted settings and fired off three quick shots. Next, he delved into his case and pulled out a pair of tweezers. Moments later he was holding a sliver of wood between the tips and holding out his hand for the flashlight. He studied the splinter, then looked around the immediate area. "Floor's carpeted, furniture is cheap laminated stuff and the bed's hickory veneer … this, without looking at it under a microscope …" he slowly turned his head to observe the room, a frown creasing his brow, "Jim, you see any oak furniture or items in this room?"

The CSI who was boxing the evidence stood, turning on the spot as he observed his surroundings. Eventually he shook his head, "Nothing I can see Tim," and returned to sealing the lid on the box.

Danko picked out a clear plastic evidence bag and dropped the splinter inside, sealing the top and filling in the information before scribbling his signature across the seal.

A knock on the doorframe behind her, made her turn round and seeing Esposito standing in the doorway, she pushed herself up and turned to him, eyebrows raised, "Tell me you have something."

The Latino grimaced, checked his notes and began to recite. "Yanina Tyahnybok, age twenty-two, Ukrainian National, JFK stamp in her passport says she arrived last Monday. Booked into this place same day and was supposed to check out today. According to the desk jockey downstairs, she was attractive, spoke reasonable English, seemed nervous, but not especially worried or frightened, spent most of her time out, didn't have any visitors. She hadn't booked in advanced, paid in cash for the two nights and asked about local cyber places …" looking up he let out a sigh, "Not much to go on, maybe we'll get lucky with background checks."

She shook her head, "I doubt it, not unless this wasn't her first visit. What about security footage?"

"Ryan's going through the tapes downstairs and I've got Unies checking out local businesses, just in case any of them caught the perp arriving or leaving."

"What about fire escapes, back door, roof access?"

"Looking into it, I've a couple of guys round the back making sure no one walks over any evidence. What about here?"

She shrugged, "Nothing much so far, we'll have to wait see if lab reports and autopsy reveal anything. Meanwhile, you and Ryan finish up here, talk to the guests on this floor and those in the rooms immediately above and below this one, you never know, someone might have heard or noticed something. I'll contact their Embassy, see what they can tell me about her and I'll also contact the FBI, maybe the MO is familiar to them."

"You think?" he asked.

She gave a small shake of her head, "With our luck, I doubt it, but you never know!"

Behind her the CSIs were packing up, Danko overseeing the boxing up of the final bits of evidence as Jim started collecting up all the yellow, plastic markers. She turned to the Uniform with the roll of police tape in his hand. "Grant, when they leave, lock up and tape the door, make sure the desk clerk knows no-one is to enter the room until my say so, ok?"

"Yes ma'am"

With that, she turned and made her way to the lift, her headache really beginning to make its presence felt. The lift pinged as it arrived on the floor, she stepped inside as soon as the doors slid open and hit the button for the ground floor. She leant her back against the wall and closed her eyes as the lift began its downward trip, hands massaging each temple as she attempted to ease the throb.

Out on the street, she turned left, her shadow jerking round behind her, following in her footsteps as she pulled the keys from her pocket and headed for the blue Dodge Charger parked on the corner. She checked traffic, stepped out round the boot and pulled open the driver's door.

For a moment she paused, looking up at the hotel before her, the unpretentious building which had hidden a brutal murder staring immutably back at her. She tucked her hair behind her ear, checked the street and then climbed into the car, pulling the door closed behind her.

She sat unmoving for several moments, keys gripped in white-knuckled fingers, the name resounding in her head like some joke of a mantra … Yanina … Yanina … Yanina … Ioannina … Yohäna … Johanna.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10 – The Flesh _**

* * *

**_AN: Apologies to anyone following this or other stories, work has been absolutely crazy all summer and just hasn't left me with time to write. I've managed to slot this chapter into a few gaps between taking a handful of nephews and nieces to the zoo, organising the wife's birthday party, doing a thirty-two page translation and trying to paint the sitting room ... besides the usual work schedule! I need to find that desert island from Ephemeral Footprints! :)  
_**

* * *

The library resonated tranquillity; hushed intensity bound in leather scented volumes and polished oak floors reflecting the lights from the overhead bronze chandeliers and the arched windows running down each side of the room.

Castle loved the Rose room, the long oak tables, the tall ceilings decorated by dramatic murals of vibrant skies and billowing clouds, every time he entered … especially during those long summer days …. he felt there was something timeless about the light falling through the great tall windows, the sun burning smooth the tops of the golden tables, the surge of restlessness which made him want to grab up every book displayed on the endless open shelves.

He chose an unoccupied table near the back, offering him a view of most of the room and the visitors quietly perusing their reading material. He connected his laptop to the library's wi-fi, logged in and accessed the files he'd requested earlier on.

There was a list of newspaper reports referencing the accident and he clicked on the first link. The article would now be about thirteen years old, but the microfilmed paper on his screen looked as fresh as the day it went to press.

_Deadly crash on NYC bridge snarls traffic for miles_

_By Rosa Velez, Rebecca Fellsbarger and Hiram Messing_

_January 10, 1999 | 9:00 am_

_A crushed truck is towed off the George Washington Bridge nearly seven hours after it rear-ended another truck and knocked a car into the river. _

_A deadly crash on the George Washington Bridge Saturday evening blitzed commuters with hours-long traffic delays from as far north as the Tappan Zee Bridge to Staten Island's bridges and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway._

_The mayhem began when a truck with appliances on the bridge's upper level toward New York City, rear-ended another truck carrying construction equipment and side-swiped a third vehicle, a Honda Civic at 6:30 p.m._

_The force of the impact knocked the Honda through the barriers and into the river below as horrified commuters watched on. _

_Investigators are looking at whether Daponta, who is a resident of North Planfield, NJ, fell asleep at the wheel or had a medical condition, sources said._

_The force of the crash was so great, first responders initially believed the two trucks were one, police sources told The Post._

_At the same time, witnesses reported seeing the careering trucks swing across the lanes and hit a small, silver-coloured car which then ploughed through the railings and off the side of the bridge._

_The car was later recovered from the water but the driver has not been found._

_The lower level of the bridge stayed open, but the lanes on the upper level did not open fully until about 3:45 a.m., nine hours after the crash._

_"__It took that time to make sure we had the scene catalogued properly — photographs, measurements," said Port Authority Police Capt. Ron Chandrell._

_The resulting backed-up traffic snarled the Lincoln and Holland tunnels, the Tappan Zee Bridge, Staten Island spans like the Outerbridge Crossing, and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway._

_Commuters jammed NJ Transit to escape the congestion._

The first article posed more questions than answers. The bare, reported facts, told him what had happened but gave him little insight into the matter, it was a rush job, put out there to cover the little information the journalists had been able to gather over those hours, and he knew from experience that the kind of scene reported would have been pretty chaotic, the pressure on all involved to clear the mess and allow the flow of traffic to resume clashing with the need to investigate the occurrence. There would have been little time or patience to keep inquisitive journalists informed of any but the basic facts.

Reading through the other reports, he was able to form a better idea of what had happened, those printed during the following days fleshing out the story and adding details to the bare bones of the first.

He jotted down the salient points as he came across them, his notebook as much a part of him as the suits he wore or the haircut he sported. All the techy gadgets he loved to play with were great, they made his work easier and offered so much in the way of correcting and changing and rearranging words … removed the heavy labour of re-writing and messing around with second thoughts … but the scratch of pen on paper was the essence of his work and the stacks of notebooks in his safe held a history of truths and half-truths and outright lies; a complete collection of human drama and tragedy … and occasionally, comedy.

Nearly three hours later, he had a fairly clear idea of the sequence of events that had led to the disappearance and presumed death of Johanna Beckett, New York civil rights attorney, the wife of Jim Beckett and mother of Kate Beckett.

Ray Daponta, 58 year-old driver of the second truck on the bridge had suffered a mild stroke while at the wheel and had ploughed into the back of the slowing construction equipment truck. At nearly 57 miles per hour, twelve over the bridge's speed limit, the appliance-toting truck had penetrated almost half the length of the other's trailer, the scaffolding, mixers and other equipment miraculously missing Daponta as the cabin crumpled around him, the fire crews needing almost two hours to cut him out of the wreckage.

Witnesses first and then the bridge's CCTV had allowed investigators to piece together the other half of the tragedy. The force of the impact as the two trucks had come together, had swung them sideways across the double lane, the rear quarter of Daponta's truck smashing into the Honda Civic just as the car's rear brakes lights came on. The impact had sent the small car careening towards the barriers on the northern side, smashing through the two-strand metal bars as if they were paper before skidding across the walkway and ploughing through the railings on the outer edge.

For moments it had appeared to teeter there, then gravity had exerted its pull and the buckled silver car had slipped off the edge of the bridge and off the screens. It had taken divers nearly four hours to find the wreckage in the cold, darkened waters and once hoisted ashore, the crumpled sides, concertinaed nose and smashed windows were testament to the impacts it had taken. The rescue crews had found the interior empty.

The river had been dredged and searched for two more days before the teams gave up, assuming the body had been towed downstream by the strong currents or been snagged by one of the myriad obstructions littering the riverbed.

The last news item was about two weeks after the incident, just a few paragraphs tying up some lose ends; reporting on Daponta's slow recovery and speculating on when or if the Hudson would ever give up the body of Johanna Beckett, driver of the car that had toppled off the George Washington bridge into oblivion.

However he looked at it, whichever angle he peered at it from, he was unable to see where the suspicion of anything other than accidental death could come from. Admittedly the information on Daponta and Kruskov, the driver of the first truck were sketchy to say the least, but surely the police would have found out about any shady goings on involving either or both of these drivers … plus, who the hell would stage a nearly lethal accident just to dispose of a civil rights attorney when there were so much easier and more self-preserving methods. Of course, knowing what she'd been working on at the time might throw a different light on matters, but somehow he couldn't picture it.

Castle looked up, turning his head slowly to observe the room. Minor changes had taken place over the time he'd been there, the sun no longer shone through the windows, the sky having taken on a greyish tone which bode ill for the evening. There had been a subtle shift in people present; the elderly gentleman who had sat at the table two rows down had been replaced by a young student type, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, red sweater bright against the wood, a small stack of books at her elbow. The average age must have dropped by fifty percent he thought as he began to gather his things together, the late afternoon crowd wearing brighter clothes, mops of hair replacing balding patches and permed hairdos, laptops and pads and phones more prevalent than earlier on. He paused as he reached his feet, momentarily wondering where he fit in; too old for most those who would be here till closing time, too young for most that would arrive bright and early tomorrow morning. With a wry smile he looped the strap of the carrier case over his shoulder, checked the time and led his echoing footsteps towards the exit.

As he hustled down the steps from the Library's entrance, glancing quickly up at the gathering clouds which had turned the previously warm day into a chilly afternoon, his phone chirped and he pulled it free as he headed south along the pavement.

"Lanie" he said, the caller id telling him who it was.

After their conversation at the diner, Lanie had eventually agreed to call Jim Beckett and find out if he was up to talking with Rick. Though she had been unwilling to give Rick the number, she had offered him sufficient snippets of information for him to realise that the death of the lawyer's wife must have thrown him off the rails, and though it sounded like he must have pulled himself together again, her fear of what this new incident could do to him had become evident, despite her attempt to hide it from him.

"I've talked to Mister Beckett, he's agreed to meet you tomorrow, one-thirty in the Riverside Bistro on FDR …" he could hear the hesitation in her voice, the doubts creeping in over the conviction, but he decided not to interrupt with pleasantries or false promises, instead he waited her out. "He also said that if he doesn't like where you're going with this he'll just walk out."

"Ok, thanks Lanie. I take it there's no further news?"

He could almost feel the shake of the head coming through the phone, "No, nothing," despondency just below the surface. He glanced up at the darkening skies as he crossed the street, dodging amongst the bumper to bumper traffic and made a quick decision on how to tackle this. Frank Reagan was his way into the precinct through the higher echelons; the ME was his way in through the lower ranks. He didn't want her resigned or doubtful, not yet at any rate. So he injected some enthusiasm into his voice, sufficient energy to hopefully buoy her spirits up.

"Listen Lanie, we'll find her ok, it won't be easy, but we can't give up, she'll be relying on you and her partners to keep digging, to keep looking into it, ok? From what you've told me about her, she wouldn't give up if one of you went missing … you need to do that for _her_ now."

He listened silently, rounding a corner and pulling his jacket tighter around him as a sudden gust of chill air rolled down Sixth Avenue making him shiver. It was several moments before a gusty sigh echoed in his ear and the ME agreed, wishing him luck with Beckett senior before cutting the call. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and picked his pace up, the first drops of rain already spattering the pavement with dark spots.

* * *

The first raindrops hit the steel top of the container like hesitant fingernails, a soft, irregular tap ... tap, tap … tap that was barely audible. The doors rattled against the chain, the little leeway in the steel links being stretched by the gusting wind before gently clanging closed again as it abated. It was pitch black outside, from what little could be seen and the temperature inside was rapidly dropping, adding to the general discomfort and sombreness.

The wind appeared to be strengthening, sibilating between the doors, flinging the raindrops against the steel shell with more force and speed, the earlier, hesitant nail tapping now sounding more constant, more insistent, louder in the confined and echoing space.

They huddled together, blankets folded beneath and around them, backs to the corrugated metal wall, the drumming of the rain making anything but the briefest of sentences impracticable. The regular rattle and screech of metal against chain links and equally regular clanging of the doors as the wind flung them back against the frame added to the noise and discomfort.

It was perhaps another hour before she patted her companion's shoulder, pushed herself to her feet and moved on stiff joints towards the front of the container, her footsteps sounding hollow on the steel floor. The wind blew wet drops through the narrow gaps around the doors, quickly soaking her face and shoulders as she pressed against the left hand one, forcing the gap as wide as possible, strands of hair clinging to her face and she had to pull some from her mouth as it settled wetly across her lips. The next gust almost made her loose her balance, the heavy door pushing her easily backwards and she had to steady herself a moment.

This time she timed it, waiting for the wind to die down before leaning her weight against the door and forcing it open as far as the chain allowed. She set her eye to the inch-wide gap and peered out, blinking rapidly as a drop of rain landed on her lid.

She could just make out the farmhouse through the murky darkness, lights shining through the silvery downpour, reflections glistening in the muddy ground around the wooden structure and glinting tauntingly on the vehicles parked out front. She could smell wood smoke and baking, her stomach growling in complaint and unconsciously she licked her lips, tasting the rain which seemed to carry the scent of pinewood with it. The next gust pushed the rough steel against her shoulder and she took a step back, letting the heavy metal clang closed, the suddenly loosened chain scraping and rattling down the outside.

She turned towards the back, wiping wetness off her face and settling back down on the blanket, pulling the loose end up around her as her companion settled back into her side. Unthinkingly, her finger traced the rough seam of the scar just above her temple, the slight roughness of the skin testament to the hit she'd taken. Inconsequentially she wondered if it would leave a scar, not that it mattered really, her hair would cover it in the best-case scenario … worst case, the scar would be the least of her problems. With a sigh she settled back, placed her arm around her companion's shoulder and settled down to wait. It was going to be a long night.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11 – The Lawyer _**

* * *

The Bistro was cosy, warm autumn tones of oranges and browns and reds adding cheerfulness to the wooden panelling and furniture. Rick paused just inside the doorway, eyes scanning the tables for a possible candidate as Detective Beckett's father. A slim, tight-faced individual sitting in a booth to one side was looking his way and something about the features struck a chord with Rick; the photos of the detective were well etched into his mind, the constant perusal making her almost familiar to him. The gentleman in question had that unspecific familiar look about him which made Rick turn and thread his way towards the booth.

The man stood as Rick approached, eyes hooded, hand held out, neither antagonism nor amicability showing through.

"Mister Beckett?" he inquired, shaking the proffered hand. Instinctively he took in the firm handshake, supple hands, smooth skin and neatly manicured nails, but there was nothing soft about it, they would be agile fingers, good at handling all those small, tricky items … unlike his own rather clumsy ones that were more apt to drop a screw or fumble with a sim card.

Pale blue eyes stared back at him, curiosity and wariness shading them. Dark circles beneath told of sleeplessness and preoccupation, the thin lips indicating Beckett senior was holding everything in.

He liked the first impression, guessed this man was one of those who knew how to keep secrets. Beckett senior would be totally trustworthy but would not take kindly to being lied to. Rick had met several such men throughout his life, in different cultures and different countries … yet they all had one thing in common, they were straight dealers, men who hated wasting time and effort in pleasantries or protocol, preferring to cut to the chase and apply their intellect to the matter in hand.

He took the indicated seat across the table and glanced quickly at the glass of clear liquid sitting there.

"Tonic water" came the dry voice from across the booth and Rick nodded, managing to hide the slight embarrassment as he slipped the coat off his shoulders and made himself comfortable, then let a slow smile touch his lips; this was going to be no walk in the park.

They sat silently as the waitress approached, setting down a couple of menu cards and taking Rick's order of coffee. He allowed his eyes to wonder round the room, taking in the smartly dressed crowd as she moved away with a nod. This was obviously a business luncheon place, somewhere where the local professionals came to eat, where business could be discussed and companies picked up the tabs. The food would be good, neither outlandishly expensive nor exotically presented, just good, simple and straightforward … a bit like the man sitting across from him.

The arrival of his coffee interrupted his thoughts and confirmed his belief, the aroma rising from the cup telling him this was quality stuff, not the over boiled, watered-down version so popular with diners the country over.

He didn't miss the look of amusement in Beckett's face as he took a tentative sip of the coffee, before the other man looked down at his own glass and pushed it aside. The lawyer crossed his arms on the table, leant forwards slightly and gave Castle a hard-eyed stare. "What is it are you're after Mister Castle?"

Rick set his cup down, the excellent coffee peppering his mouth with the sharp aftertaste and he looked up at the worried man across the table. Her father was doing a good job of keeping the panic at bay, of presenting a solid front, dignity and strength his shield against this new tragedy. But Castle was able to see past that, to the fear and anger burning like coals in the back of the eyes. He wondered how much it was taking out of him to keep off the drink, to not go down the same hole he had done after his wife's death. He wondered how long before the man's strength of will gave out.

"Mister Beckett, I know sympathy and platitudes are useless here, the NYPD and the FBI are doing all they can, I know they have looked into your daughter's arrest records, have checked and double-checked anyone whom she has arrested and who might have a desire to do her harm. I know the FBI has profiled the case, has looked into possible suspects, I know her team have followed every clue they've come across and I know that Commissioner Reagan has taken a personal interest in the matter …"

"But?" the lawyer was watching him closely, eyes narrowed, the question dropping off his lips when Castle let his voice run out. The journalist looked around, took in those at the nearest table who were absorbed in their own conversation, his and Beckett's just one more in this roomful of quiet conversations.

He brought his eyes back to the older man and gave a slightly eloquent shrug. "I think they're all chasing the wrong clues," watching as the man before him pushed back from the table, lips tightening in anger and eyes drilling into him. He waited, allowing Beckett to worry his comment, his lawyer's brain looking at the case from a new, unexpected angle. Several minutes seemed to pass before the shoulders relaxed slightly, the arms coming back to cross themselves on the table and Castle let a silent sigh of relief whisper across his lips.

"You must have a reason for that astonishing belief," the words posed more as a question than an affirmation.

Castle shrugged, looked up at him and said, "Not so much a belief …. more a guess, perhaps an intuition?" Getting a nod, he continued, "As far as I'm aware, there is no spate of kidnappings taking place in New York … that you're daughter, an armed Detective should be the single victim of a kidnapping only makes sense if someone were out to punish her or to force a third party to act in a specific way."

He watched as the look in her father's eyes became more interested, the anger dying down to its previous embers. Getting a small wave of a hand he continued, "In the first scenario, almost a month into the case, the investigations by both the FBI and the NYPD would have had to throw something up, even just a breath of suspicion; an unwary word, a phone call, a visit to an inmate, something that would connect to possible suspects. I have it on good authority, that they have nothing; though there are a number of people who would no doubt be happy to seek revenge on your daughter, none of them appear to be involved, which either exonerates them … or makes them incredibly smart. In my experience, people who end up in jail are not particularly smart … cunning, crafty perhaps … not incredibly smart."

He finished his coffee and pushed it aside, "In the second case scenario, I can only think of one person whom her kidnapping could possibly influence …" pausing to raise his eyebrows at the lawyer, the widening eyes telling him of the other man's surprise at his conclusion and confirming his original doubts, "I believe you deal in corporate law?" and on getting a nod, "I find it difficult to imagine someone trying to force your hand by sequestering your daughter … I could be wrong, but it doesn't make much sense to me."

From the look on Beckett senior's face, it didn't make much sense to him either. He watched as the lawyer reached out for his glass and took a sip of the liquid, grimacing slightly and looking depreciatingly at the contents before replacing it on the table.

"Ok, so you don't think any of those my daughter has put away over her thirteen years as a cop …" pausing with raised eyebrows as he saw the squirm of Castles shoulders.

"I'd say more likely the last seven, maybe ten years at most; I doubt she had much to do with putting people away either as a trainee or during her first few years as a beat cop. Those kind of arrests tend to be for misdemeanour or minor felony charges and hardly likely to involve revenge ten, thirteen years later," Rick offered with a half-apologetic shrug.

A smile tugged at her father's lips as he nodded in acceptance, "Ok, allow me to rephrase then, you don't believe that anyone whom she has arrested during her career as a member of the NYPD is involved in her disappearance, and I can confirm that no one has either attempted to, or suggested coercing me in any way. That still leaves me in a puzzle as to what could have motivated her disappearance," unable to hide the worry or fear as he uttered the last part of the sentence.

"I believe it has to do with something outside of her career or her relationship with you sir, perhaps something that is totally disconnected from either of those … and I need to have more of an insight into her … into her life, to see if I'm the one barking up the wrong tree or not"

Jim Beckett glanced at the hovering waitress, then at the journalist sitting opposite him. "You hungry?" he asked. Castle shook his head and the lawyer nodded, called for the tab and said, "Then let's get out of here, take a walk."

Both men hunched into their coats as they stepped out of the Bistro and into the chill air sweeping in off the East River. Wordlessly Jim Beckett turned left and Castle followed him, their steps not quite in unison as they crossed the street by the corner and made their way down the few steps onto the lower level walkway along the river. Thin, spartan trees struggled for dignity along the vacant parking spaces and the cold light glinted off the waters running south. Flags on the poles outside The Water Club building flapped desultorily in the breeze, and Castle was beginning to regret leaving the warmth of the diner when his companion indicated a bench seat overlooking the river.

Hunters Point was visible across the river, a black and white ferry churning the busy water as it cut across towards the terminal just a little north of where they had taken their seat. The breeze whipped Rick's hair over his brow and he ran a hand across, pushing it back, watching the man sitting next to him as he stared out across the water, face inscrutable, body leaning forwards slightly, the hunched shoulders indicating some inner debate.

Eventually he turned his head to face Rick and said, "She's an independent so-and-so, my daughter. Always has been. Gave her mother and I more than one headache over the years." He paused and turned back to contemplate the river. "What's your angle in this Mister Castle?"

"Rick, please call me Rick. I don't have an angle," shrugging in self-depreciation, "at least, not in the way you're insinuating. I have great admiration for our Law Enforcement Agencies; they do a tough job for little reward and often even less recognition. I have no qualms about going after anyone, in a journalistic sense, who crosses the line or contravenes the law, be they movers and shakers, cops or criminals. But something about your daughter's disappearance makes my Spidey senses tingle, I can't tell you why or what it is that's off … but something just doesn't sit right with me about it"

There was a surprising chuckle from the man sitting next to him, "Your Spidey senses huh?" and Castle couldn't help colouring up at the ridiculousness of the phrase now he'd had it thrown back at him. Before he could try to make amends, Beckett turned to face him and held out his hand, "Jim, call me Jim."

Castle gave him a rueful smile and shook the proffered hand, a repeat of what they'd done in the diner, but somewhere the between then and now, something had shifted, some subtle change which he couldn't quite place but was happy to run with.

"So Rick, what do you need to know exactly … I don't promise to answer you, but I'll consider what you have to say, ok?"

Rick nodded in acceptance, hesitated a moment and then decided to leave his notebook in his pocket. He wanted to keep this as informal as possible.

"I spoke at length with Lanie the other day, she gave me quite a bit of background information on your daughter, and there were a few things that struck me as unusual, I'm not sure how much you can help me out here or how much you're willing to impart … for all I know, they may have nothing to do with her disappearance, nor do I want to intrude in private issues … but anything you're willing to impart might help me to get her story straight in my mind."

"Her story?" the query coming with upraised eyebrows and downturned mouth.

Rick rubbed his chin with his hand and then gave a dismissive gesture "Sorry not the best choice of words. When I look at something like this, there has to be, in my mind, a story line, a beginning, middle and end. People don't just commit murder or rob a bank or disappear on the spur of the moment, there has to be a trigger, something that sets them off down a path, and along that path there have to be reasons that makes their choices at specific moments relevant, and in the end, those very motives, those same choices tend to lead to a specific conclusion, a specific result. Knowing what those triggers are, understanding why a person reacts in a specific way can allow you to narrow down the options, to look for the clues in a particular tree rather than a particular forest. I … I'm sorry, not sure that made much sense, but it's how I work."

He watched the man nod, "Yeah, I get what you mean, even if it was a little dressed up. Knowing if a company is healthy or trying to hide losses makes me look at contracts in a different light. The Law doesn't allow for much leeway, but suspicion makes you hunt extra hard for the camouflaged clauses."

A river patrol went past, lights flashing, outboards kicking up a thick, wide wash, water creaming at the bows. They watched it in silence for a few moments, saw the wake widen behind the fast diminishing shape, rippling across the river and rocking the few pleasure boats braving the weather.

Beckett turned back to the writer, fixed him with cool, blue-grey eyes and asked, "Ok Rick, remembering that I may decide not to answer you, what's your first question?"

Castle hesitated a moment, he had a sudden vision of himself several years from now facing the same question. He would quite possibly be extremely angry … and uncomfortable with it, but he needed to know.

"When I spoke to Lanie, she mentioned the relationships your daughter has had over the last several years, Detectives Esposito and Ryan have looked into them … and found nothing to connect them to her disappearance …" he cleared his throat gently, before continuing, "I just wondered if perhaps there might have been anyone Lanie or the detectives might have been unaware of, someone else who might have had a reason …"


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12 – Family Secrets _**

* * *

The huff of laughter at his side stopped Castle in his tracks, the look of amusement mixed with sadness on Jim's face making him close his mouth.

"Do you have children Rick?"

"A daughter, she's six going on thirty"

"Well Rick, let me tell you, once our little girls reach their teens, you're the last person to know anything about their love life and relationships. I can assure you that whatever Lanie has told you, is what there is. Those two have … had … no, have," said with a stubborn nod of the head, "girls nights, I don't know what they get up to and I don't particularly want to either, but I can tell you right now that if Katie was in a relationship with anyone, then Lanie knows about it."

Rick nodded, he'd already assumed so, though the picture Jim painted of what to expect as Alexis got older set a cold claw at his heart and silently he vowed to keep his daughter close, to not let age or anger or disappointment come between them. With an effort he turned his mind back to the subject in hand … another daughter.

"Lanie also said she had a bike, a Harley?"

Jim shook his head, a mix of helplessness and amusement in his face as he turned his head back to face Castle. "I haven't seen her use it recently, but yes …. thing must be what … nearly twenty years old by now?"

"Was she involved with any other bikers? Maybe like in a …"

"You mean was she in any type of biker gang?" this time a twitch of amusement curling Jim's lips as he interrupted Castle. "No, that I'm sure of ninety, ninety-five percent. As a teen she was too dammed independent to follow any rules, and a brotherhood of bikers would be much too chauvinistic for my Katie. No I'm pretty sure you can scratch that from your list of possibilities"

Rick was intrigued by this insight into the young Kate Beckett, "Sounds like she was a handful?" a smile playing on his lips.

Beckett senior turned his face away, hands rubbing together as if to restore circulation, his gaze wondering out over the river which had once again shifted scene; the ferry now on the return trip, bows pointing slightly north of Hunters Point while further south an old twin masted ketch, pale cream sails billowing in the wind, cut a course upriver, the vermilion of its gunwale in sharp contrast to the dark blue of the hull.

Jim sat up, rested his back against the slats of the bench and tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. "She was smart, intelligent and rebellious. I guess you could say the one led to the other. Her mother and I tried our best, but there was a period when it seemed that anything we said, anything we did was apparently designed to thwart her, to contradict her view of life," a sigh accompanying the pause, "she was seventeen when she decided she wanted a scooter so that she could go to high school without having to use public transport …. or have us drop her off and pick her up," amusement on his face as he turned to look at Rick, "apparently that was very demeaning, not cool at all."

Rich huffed a laugh in appreciation and then turned his body slightly, crooking his arm over the back of the seat as Jim continued. "Anyway, we said no way! The dangers of her coming off the thing, skidding on icy roads, being hit by a drunk driver … there was no way were going to allow that, not until she was at least eighteen we stipulated, hoping that by then she'd want a car and we could say good riddance to the idea of a damned bike!"

"I take it things didn't work out that way?"

Jim ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, a wry smile on his face. "No, she was supposedly spending her free time working as a waitress to earn some money, it wasn't until later we discovered she'd swapped waitressing for modelling … for Matilda King no less …" a twitch of the lips as Rick's eyebrows shot up, "… the first we knew about it was when she turned up one day astride that thing, it gave her mother and I heart attacks … and made us realise we'd have been better off agreeing to the damned scooter!"

"What happened with the modelling?"

Jim laughed, ruefully shaking his head. "Oh, another classic parenting blunder at the time. As soon as we discovered how she'd managed to buy herself that infernal machine … we knew she couldn't have earned enough serving tables … we demanded she put a stop to her modelling career, three days of threats and arguments, shouting matches, mostly on her side, about her not having any freedom or being allowed to do what she wanted to do, about us being Nazis, me threatening to send her to a nunnery … oh, you can't imagine the half of it. It was only when we phoned Matilda King to try and sort something out with her that we discovered she'd already left. That girl had worked just enough to buy herself the bike and then left … left her mother and I feeling like real idiots as well."

There were pangs of regret audible through the slightly amused tone Jim Beckett was using to recount the story and once again, Rick couldn't help wondering what his future with his daughter would turn out to be like, he hoped to god it would be nothing like what he was hearing. "Makes parenting kinda scary"

Jim nodded in agreement, "Yes at the time I used to wonder what had become of my little Katie, the cheerful, smiling girl who used to spend hours sitting on her grandpa's lap learning magic tricks or the girl who would patiently queue at the comic store for the latest edition of whichever hero or heroine had taken her fancy, or the little squirt of a girl who would stand on my feet as we danced round the kitchen annoying the hell out of her mother as we kept getting in the way."

"But in the end, you both must have done a good job. From what I hear she's highly respected, has an incredible track record and you don't become youngest female detective ever unless you're smart and talented."

Jim nodded in thanks and then gave a little shrug. "I know most of that Rick, and believe me it makes me proud, she's a smart woman, but she shouldn't be a cop, she had other ideas, was going to become the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court …" his voice petering out as he hunched himself into his coat.

Rick hesitated; this was another crux he needed to get through, to understand. So far, nothing of what Jim had told him pointed to motive for her disappearance, but her mother's death loomed large on the horizon of the conversation and he wasn't sure whether pushing for that right now was the right thing to do or not. The man sitting on the bench beside him was a recovering alcoholic, Rick knew there was no such thing as a recovered alcoholic; it was an ongoing battle which could be won or lost on the toss of a coin. He didn't want to be responsible for this particular toss.

"I don't know about you Jim, but right now my balls are like brass monkeys … how about we head back and have something warm to eat?"

They re-entered The Riverside Bistro, ignored the curious look from the waitress who had served them earlier on and settled down at a corner table. The room was emptier than before, just a few people lingering over coffees and skimming over paperwork. Rick leant over, grabbed a couple of menu cards form the empty table next to them and handed one to Jim. Already Rick could feel the warmth of the room making his face flush as opening pores and busy corpuscles dealt with the skin-deep chill of their stay by the riverside.

They made small talk while they waited to order, Jim snapping a breadstick in half and chewing contemplatively on it as Castle told him about Alexis, quick grins and outright chuckles accompanying some of Rick's better stories. They quietened down as they tucked into their soups, allowing the comfort food to warm their bellies and banish the chill.

Not till they were on their coffees, Rick stirring the sugar into his, did he consider re-opening the previous line of conversation. The last hour had been pleasant, stress-free and the more he talked to Jim the more he liked the man …. and the more insight he got into the missing detective.

He set his spoon down, picked up his cup, hesitated and then put it down again. He was a little frustrated with himself. Usually he was able to be very clinical about getting information from his sources, a combination of experience and his deep understanding of human nature telling him which buttons to press and when to do so to get the most out of his opponent, and yes, his sources were his opponents, if he didn't press enough, they'd keep information back for later or for someone else, press too hard and they'd clam up, resentment making them unwilling to cooperate. Money was just the key to the door, getting the door open required skills.

With the man sitting opposite, quietly sipping his coffee as he observed him, Rick was in a quandary. He was a source, yet not one of his usual types. This was personal, private and had the added problem of being done on a tightrope. He, Rick Castle, had no intention of being held responsible for Jim Beckett going back to hitting the bottle.

"You'd best spit it out or you'll get an ulcer."

Rick couldn't help the quick grin, he'd almost forgotten he was dealing with a lawyer, someone who was probably just as adept as himself at reading people. He decided to be open, honest about it.

"Jim, I don't want to stir up bad memories or cause hurt in any way, so if you're not comfortable … sorry, stupid word in this context … if you don't want to talk about it, I'll quite understand."

"You want to know about Johanna's death," the words a statement, no question in the voice. Rick nodded, keeping his mouth shut as the lawyer set his cup down and seemed to contemplate the tips of his fingers.

"The aftermath was nor one of my better moments, I'll have to admit that I let everyone down, my late wife, my daughter, my clients … and mostly myself," his eyes flickering up to look at Castle and then back down to the studious contemplation of his fingernails. Anguish tightened his mouth and added creases to his eyes as he considered his next words.

"It was a Saturday night, January ninth. Katie was leaving for Stanford the following day and we'd arranged to have our last family dinner at Jasper's, one of our favourite places, only a ten minute walk from home." His hand came up to gently hold the handle of his coffee cup, swivelling the cup slightly back and forth on the saucer as he continued. "Jo had to see a client, some urgent signature that couldn't wait till Monday … she called to say she'd meet us at the restaurant." He'd stopped swivelling the cup, his thumb now rubbing back and forth along the curved top of the handle. "Katie and I waited an hour, and when she hadn't appeared and our fourth call went to voicemail, we assumed she'd got tied up with the client and hadn't realised what the time was …" guilt gave his voice a poignant note, as if he could have somehow altered fate, swept his wife off the bridge and to safety. Castle swallowed a lump in his throat, not so much because of the story; during his dilated career he'd heard and been witness to many a tragic tale, what affected him here was Jim's matter of fact delivery, a casualness belied by the fidgety fingers, the lip clamped between his teeth whenever he paused, dignity occasionally being usurped by heartrending memories.

"We decided to go ahead and order our meal and by ten o'clock, when Jo still hadn't made an appearance we headed home. That was when we found out what had happened …. and the bottom fell out of my world." His voice sounded rough on the last line and Rick saw him swallow, holding his napkin up as he attempted to clear his throat. It took him a couple of goes and Rick turned his head to survey the now almost empty room, giving the man a little privacy to regroup himself, watching the staff setting the tables for the evening service and ignoring the slightly pointed look they were getting from their waitress.

When he thought Jim had had enough time he turned back to him, asking if he'd like to join him in another coffee. The lawyer nodded and Rick called out their order, hiding a slight smile at the look of frustration on the waitress' face.

He waited until they were served, running over the information Jim had given him and checking it against what he already knew. Eventually he turned back to the man across the table and, allowing a little doubt to creep into his voice, he said, "I gathered the impression, both from something Lanie said and some information I've read, that your daughter felt there was something odd about the accident?"

Jim nodded, taking a sip of the fresh cup of coffee before answering, "For a time she seemed to be obsessed by it, convinced that the accident was no such thing," an eloquent shrug telling Rick he wasn't of the same opinion.

"What made her think that?"

"Shortly after the accident, Kruskov, the driver of the first truck disappeared, the police couldn't find him and the inquest had to rely on the testimony he'd given the police on the night of the accident. Katie always felt there was some connection between her mother's death and the disappearance of the driver …"

"And you didn't?" he asked gently.

Jim raised a quizzical eyebrow as he looked at him, "A driver disappears and there's some conspiracy behind it? Maybe he was an illegal, maybe his licence was fake, who knows, maybe he just decided to go home. No, I'm not much for conspiracy theories, especially under circumstances like these. I mean, why stage such a complicated accident? There was no way they could know that the trucks would knock her car into the river, it could have just ended up as a pileup with no one seriously hurt or with Kruskov dead. Also, Jo was a civil rights attorney, not exactly a candidate for the Pelican Brief."

The film reference made Rick smile despite himself and he had to admit that he himself couldn't see any connection or obvious manipulation of the accident. With the exception of the missing body and the disappear …

Castle narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to one side, hand rubbing his chin. Then he turned back to Jim, "You just said Kruskov might have just decided to go home … where did you mean by home?"

Jim looked back at him blankly for a second, before his eyes scrunched slightly as he observed the journalist. "Ukraine … the man was from some town outside Kiev …" eyes closing briefly as he dredged his memory, then they were back to watching him closely, "… place called Boyka or Borka or something like that, why?"

Castle pulled his phone out, hit the google maps app and began typing in. He'd only got as far as writing _Ukraine, Boy…_ when the same name appeared several times in the list below. He looked up, "Could it have been Boyarka?"


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13 – The Ukrainian Connection _**

* * *

**_AN: As always, thank you so much for your comments on this story. I _****_will_****_ get around to answering each one personally just as soon as this writing splurge and work allows, please be patient with me! _****_:)_**

* * *

Jim's face scrunched up in thought, then he gave a slow nod, "I think it was, but I can't swear to it, I'm going back thirteen years … and I wasn't in a good place at the time." He gave Rick a considering look, head tilted slightly to one side as he studied him. "Something called your attention … mind letting me in on it?"

Rick rubbed his chin, eyes squinting as he tried to tie down the wisp of an idea, it was like trying to catch a slippery fish, there one minute, gone the next. He went back to the basics, hopefully, whatever the thought that had feathered his mind had been, it would come back to him later.

"Does the name Oksana Lasyk mean anything to you?"

The Lawyer looked blank for all of two or three seconds, then he gave a slow nod, eyes sharpening as he looked at the writer. "The first name I'm not sure about, but Lasyk was the name of the family Katie spent a semester with in Kiev …. a student exchange program she wanted to do … why?"

"I seem to recall her name as one of your daughter's friends on Facebook; she doesn't appear to list many, but that one stuck in my mind because of the Cyrillic writing. It may mean absolutely nothing, coincidence _does_ occur, it's just that there are too many trails of bread leading back to the Ukraine …"

Jim looked at him doubtfully, "Ok, but a Ukrainian driver from thirteen years ago and current Ukrainian friend on Facebook doesn't a summer make."

Rick smiled at the usage of old Aristotle's remark, but then turned serious and shook his head, "I know it's stretching it a bit, but according to Lanie, the last case your daughter was working on involved the somewhat gruesome murder of a young Ukrainian woman …" he pulled his notebook out, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Her name was Yanina Tyahnybok … ring any bells?" lifting his head to look inquiringly at the man across the table.

Jim looked doubtful, obviously giving the name some consideration before shrugging and shaking his head, "Sorry, not a clue …."

"What can you tell me about your daughter's time in Kiev?"

Jim blew out his cheeks, hand sweeping backwards through his hair and a slightly lost look creasing his face. "It was just a student exchange program the school was trying out, they went through a non-profit, nongovernmental organization … can't remember the name, she spent eighteen weeks I think it was, over there, and the Lasyks were her hosts." Rick could see Jim making an effort to dredge up information from over sixteen years earlier, watched him run a thumb along his eyebrow as he gave the matter further thought. "I probably have some photos somewhere, and Katie's bound to have some. The parents were called Andrey and Elena … there was an older son …" he shook his head when the name wouldn't come to him, "and a younger daughter … Katie used to call her Sana, I suppose it could well have been Oksana, but I wouldn't trust myself on that, not one hundred percent at any rate. I do remember that the little girl took a shine to Katie, used to call her Katya …" a smile creasing his face at the memories. "Back then the internet wasn't what it is nowadays, especially in the Ukraine, we ended up with some pretty hefty phone bills over that period."

"Did any of you keep in touch with them?"

Jim shook his head, "I think there was an exchange of cards that first Christmas, but then Katie hit her rebellious period and I assume we just had too much on our plates, I don't recall any further contact with them, though you say they're friends on Facebook?"

"_If_ it's the same person, I'll get a friend of mine to run some checks see if they can find out if she's the same girl or not."

"You really think there's some connection between Jo's death and my daughter's current whereabouts?" asked Beckett, pushing his empty cup and saucer away from him before checking his watch.

"I can't find any logic to it, but too many things seem to point towards Kiev, and given the current situation over there, I just don't know, I think it's at least worth looking at, don't you?"

Beckett nodded, hesitated and then held out his hand. "I'm not sure I should be thanking you Rick, but I appreciate your efforts in trying to find out what has happened to her, I really do."

"Don't mention it; I just hope it leads somewhere."

"I'd like to carry on talking, but I really need to get back …" signalling the waitress and adding, "Let me pick up the tab," shaking his head at Rick's objections, "I think I owe you at least that. Keep me informed if you find out anything won't you?" pulling out a business card and handing it over to Rick before pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. As he gathering his coat from over the back of the chair and Rick stood also, he added, "Despite everything, it's been a pleasure talking to you, Rick," a gentle smile momentarily softening the lines of preoccupation on his face.

Rick watched the detective's father turn and make his way out before gathering his own coat up and heading for the door. There was a lot to think about and some favours to ask before making his next move. As he pushed through the door, a weak, watery sun tried to push through the overcast, the effort failing quite miserably, but Castle took it as a sign of the gods and allowed a slight smile to curve his lips.

A check of his watch made him hesitate. He'd arranged with his mother to pick up Alexis from school. Rick always tried to spend the afternoon with his daughter; helping with her homework … though Alexis often called it obstructing her homework … she'd overheard him using the word on the phone and as soon as he'd hung up had asked what it meant. His bright little girl had soon made good use of her new word and he had a tough time hiding his grin whenever she used it against him.

He called home as he headed south along the sidewalk, dodging round afternoon shoppers busily threading their way in the opposite direction or forming small groups near shop windows and bus stops. Checking that everything was alright and letting Martha know he'd be another hour, he pocketed his phone and hailed a cab.

Back at his desk, he checked the time; three pm in New York would make it round nine over there … maybe the bastard would be out to dinner … probably not. Picking up the desk phone he put a call through to London, checking the time again as the switchboard told him to hold.

"Paladin Security and Risk Management Solutions, how may I help you?"

"Hi, its Rick Castle in New York, could you put me through to Rob Henshaw please …"

"One moment please sir …" the almost sing-song voice made him smile, "… Mister Henshaw is no longer in the office sir, would you like me to patch you through?"

"Please …"

There followed a number of clicks and hisses of static before "Hey Rick, how you doing you ol' son of a gun!"

"Doing fine Rob, what about you?"

"Oh, as you Yanks would say, same old, same old"

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"Nothing that won't hold for another few minutes old chap, what can I do for you?"

"If I needed to check out some info in the Ukraine, who would I need to contact?"

"Hmmm … bit dodgy that. Not exactly your homely campfire location these days."

"Has it ever been?" and was rewarded with laughter.

"No Rick, quite right, always been like a zipper ... never sure what's going to pop out! What sort of info are you after?"

"Just a background check on a couple of names"

"Local or foreign?"

"Local as far as I know … at least they were back in the nineties"

"Ok, let me ask around, maybe someone knows someone … you know how this sort of thing works."

"Sure, and oh .. Rob, thanks!"

"No problem Rick, I'll get back to you if I have any luck. By the way, how's that beautiful daughter of yours?" and Rick could hear the smile in the voice.

"Sweet and smart as always, don't know where she gets it from"

There was an answering chuckle, a promise to get back to him within twenty four hours, a few words of farewell and then the line went dead. He sat back and considered the man he'd just spoken to … almost three years since they'd last seen each other.

* * *

_Heat shimmered off the steel decks and the bright disk of the sun beat down mercilessly from overhead, hammering the sea into submission and flattening out the ocean rollers till they were nothing more than gentle swells. _

_Up on the bridge, Rick pulled the soggy material of his shirt away from his skin, pointlessly trying to find a cool spot from which to observe. Despite both bridge-wing doors being pegged back and the ceiling fans turning sluggishly in their roof housings, there wasn't a breath of air to alleviate the heat. _

_He wiped a hand over his dry mouth, felt the thin encrustation of dried salt and saliva at the commissures of his lips and turned to look out over the huge expanse of sea. The SV Santach was a hundred thousand tonne freighter carrying a mix of goods from Singapore to Naples, one of the thousands of ships that plied the oceans and kept the first world countries stocked in mobile phones, garden furniture, footwear and imitation handbags amongst other items. _

_With the upturn in piracy round the Gulf of Aden, he, Rick Castle, journalist extraordinaire had talked his boss into letting him do an article 'from the front line'. For the last two days, he, Rick Castle, had been cursing both his brilliant idea and the Leprechaun, for allowing himself to be talked into it. _

_Movement on the starboard wing drew his attention and a few moments later he was grinning at Rob Henshaw, the tall, lanky Brit who was in charge of the three-man private army hired by the shipping company to keep their precious cargo safe. There was plenty of talk about setting up a multinational coalition task force to deal with the piracy off the coast of Somalia, but so far it was just that, talk. _

_Meanwhile, shipping companies had decided to go ahead and protect their assets by hiring mercenaries vaguely camouflaged as security staff. The owners of the SV Santach, insured by Lloyds of London, had had no option but to accept the 'suggestion' they hire people a bit less shady than some of their competitors, the London lot might not be quite as white as driven snow, but public opinion mattered and mercenaries as such were to be frowned upon. _

_Enter Paladin Security, a City based company set up in the early seventies by three ex-army men too young to spend their days in the Pub and too old and world-weary to start looking for jobs on civvi street. By the late eighties, the company had offices in over twelve countries, were on first name terms with half the world's foreign policy ministers and were on the payroll of international petroleum and mining companies who often found themselves being extorted by some bunch of paramilitary goons who had kidnapped one of their company executives. Staffing their ranks with men from the armed forces and the police force, Paladin Security as it was better known in the trade, had achieved a reputation for getting the job done with the minimal noise. _

_Rick's first introduction to Paladin Security had been when three men dressed in dark clothes and carrying some heavy bags and boxes had walked up the gangplank while the ship had been tied up to the dock in Muscat, Oman. _

_Silently, the three had been escorted to their quarters and an intrigued Castle had tried to find out from the Captain who they were. The Captain, a small, walnut-brown Indonesian by the name of Agus Atmajaya who wore a permanent smile interspersed with flashing gold teeth and an accent thick enough that it had taken Rick three days to begin to understand him had simply waved in the general direction of Somalia and said what Rick thought was "Insuance". _

_The following morning, with the ship clearing the harbour and the sandy-brown coast of Oman lying several miles to starboard, Rick had met the three men over breakfast. The man who introduced himself simply as Rob was obviously the leader, tall and lanky, thinning blonde hair over a ruddy complexion, pale grey eyes which seemed to observe the world with amused cynicism and an appetite for curries that was later to make Rick's eyes water. _

_Dai, short, stocky and taciturn was a dark-haired Welshman with a well-hidden sense of humour and cool brown eyes which generally gave nothing away. The third member was introduced as Al, about Rick's own size though about thirty pounds heavier, the scarred flesh at the side of his neck which disappeared under his t-shirt and looked suspiciously like severe burn marks seemed a contradiction to his cheerful blue eyes and personality. _

_When he'd asked them what they were there for, Rob had confirmed his suspicions and clarified the Captains previous comment by saying, "Insurance old boy, just insurance, don't want to lose whatever it is we're carting round this blessed globe of ours do we?" _

_At first the words had struck Rick as a bit theatrical, as if he were hearing lines from a play; within the few days the men were on the ship however, he discovered that Rob's phrases were constantly interspersed with 'old boy' and 'old chap', and like the other two members of the team soon became inured to it. _

_With little to do as the ship sailed round the headland at Al Hadd and turned south-west into the Gulf of Aden, Rick had followed the men round the ship as they studied the vessel's weak points and strong points, selected firing positions and concealed a number of weapons at strategic locations. They said little, and the little they said seemed to be in another language as far as Rick was concerned; field of fire and effective range he could handle, rats, ulu and IDF left him bewildered. _

_Eventually the team seemed satisfied and Rick followed Rob up onto the bridge as the team leader reported to the Captain. They continued on their west-south-westerly course as Oman seamlessly blended into Yemen, the ship moving a few miles further into the gulf and leaving a bit more sea between them and the Yemeni coast. _

_It had been around noon when the lookout on the port wing had begun to excitedly gesticulate and both the Captain and first officer had rushed out to join him. Crowding in behind them, a pair of borrowed binoculars to his eyes, Rick could make out two boats heading towards the ship, one was well ahead, obviously intending to cut across the bows and come down the starboard side while the other was keeping its distance just off the port bow. _

* * *

_**· Ulu - a remote or rural area, from the Malay language; "Out in the ulu" = away from base and populated areas.**_

_**· IDF Indirect fire. Occurs when there is no direct sight of target. Generic term for enemy artillery or mortar fire.**_

_**· RATS Rations or a description of unpleasant conditions - such as being wet, cold and hungry.**_


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter 14 – Paladin Security _**

* * *

_The clatter of feet on the companionway ladder drew his attention and he turned as the lanky ex-soldier appeared on the bridge, asking them the move back inside and taking their place out on the wing. Rick watched him sweep his binoculars from one to the other of the approaching boats, still a couple of miles away. Then he raised the binoculars slightly and did a careful sweep of the horizon. _

_It was only when Rob raised his hand to his throat that Rick noticed the communications system round his neck with an attached earpiece. Rob thumbed the throat mic and calmly said, "Dai, bridge roof, zodiac on the starboard bow. See if you can take out the helmsman. Al, Port bow, dhow with approximately fourteen men on board, give them a warning burst across the bows, remember lads, were not Russians, let's keep casualties down if we can."_

_Dai appeared from below, a sleek-looking rifle slung over his shoulder. He scrambled up the ladder attached to the rear bulkhead and pushed open the hatch, disappearing through the opening before slamming it closed. Rick thought he could make out his footfalls as he crossed to the left side of the bridge roof, then silence. His attention was drawn then to the long deck below them as the large figure of Al appeared on the trot, a nasty looking machinegun looking like a toy in his large hands. Al reached the bows, dropped to his knees on the deck by the hawse, splayed the gun's bipod and adjusted his posture slightly until he was obviously comfortable, sweeping the barrel experimentally through a few degrees. Rick saw his hand rise to his throat, turned to watch Ron give a silent nod though those on the bridge could hear nothing. _

_Rick was both excited and puzzled, the oncoming boats, one on either bow and quickly approaching, were giving him an anticipatory adrenalin rush, the comment on keeping casualties low adding confusion. He had been expecting an all-out firefight, but it would appear that Rob had other ideas._

_Rick turned his binoculars back to the zodiac, the inflated rubber hull bouncing as the powerful outboard pushed it ahead of the wooden-hulled dhow on the opposite beam. There was a sudden crack from overhead, like a whiplash, and all on the bridge but Rob ducked instinctively. _

_Sheepishly, Rick straightened up, raised his binoculars and focused on the zodiac which had suddenly begun to turn away in an arc of frothy wash. With slightly unsteady hands he was able to bring the scene in close, the man who must have been holding the outboard's tiller was clutching his shoulder, the outboard, with no one to control it, had swung right and was causing the boat to turn away. Even as he watched, another of the men scrambled backwards, grabbed the tiller and began to turn the boat back onto a converging course. A second, sharp crack sounded from overhead and this time Rick only flinched. Even so, he saw the second man topple over slowly and disappear into the bottom of the boat. Again the engine began to swing over, the boat once more arcing away from the freighter, but this time, no one moved, dark faces loomed into his sight, both surprise and fear showing through the wide eyes and opened mouths. He lowered the binoculars and watched as the zodiac kept on swinging left, the men remained seated, some with hands half raised in a seemingly doubtful show of surrender. It completed a first circle, the bows cutting through its own wash, then Rob was telling Dai to keep an eye on them and crossing the bridge quickly to the starboard wing, eyes now on the dhow, the crew of which must have noticed the unusual behaviour of the other boat but were still focused on the prize now only a cable length away. _

_One of the pirates in the bows of the dhow suddenly stood up, back supported by one of his companions and raised a length of pipe to his shoulders. Rick had seen enough films, documentaries and done sufficient research for one of his books to recognise an RPG, the ruggedness, simplicity, low cost, and effectiveness of the Russian-made weapon making it the most widely used anti-armour weapon in the world. _

_It didn't require Rob's urgent "Everybody down!" to have Rick already ducking below the windows of the bridge, just his eyes above the sill as he stared down at the scene less that a ship's length away. _

_The rapid throaty coughing from the bows told him Al had joined the party and a sudden row of waterspouts appeared about twenty meters ahead of the dhow, travelling rapidly towards it and then wood splinters started flying as the rounds found and settled on the bows. The toothless prey abruptly sprouting fangs must have disconcerted the pirate with the RPG, there was a puff of smoke even as he stumbled backwards, the launcher aimed high and then even Rob was ducking in behind the steel bulwarks of the bridge and yelling for everyone to get down._

_There was a thunderclap of sound from above, followed by a highly colourful flow of welsh-intoned profanities and what sounded like a box of nails being emptied onto the metal roof plates. The smell of cordite seeped into the bridge through the open hatches on the wings and Rick worked his jaws to try to lose the thrumming in his ears._

_It was Rob moving back out onto the wing, hand to his throat mic that had Rick once more blinking and cautiously raising his head above the sills. Al was firing another belt of ammunition at the dhow, bullets ripping paint and wooden splinters from the wood and canvas cover over the poop deck as its crew scattered and ducked for cover. _

_Whoever had his hand on the tiller must have decided enough was enough and the bows quickly began to turn away, the dhow trying to put as much distance between itself and the freighter as possible. In the bows, Rick watched as Al inserted another belt into the machine gun and adjusted his position, then waited, hand to throat. _

_His hearing having returned, Rick was able to discern Rob saying, "… alright, just a bit deaf and covered in shit. Keep an eye on your guys and if they don't turn back, stand down." Then he was striding back across the bridge and on to the port wing. Rick, having forgotten about the zodiac in the excitement, stood up and followed Rob out, turning to face backwards as the freighter continued on its course. The zodiac continued its circling, the eccentric circles of wash proof of the effectiveness of Dai's shooting. _

_Rob turned and called up … moments later, the dark haired Welshman popped his head over the coaming, a slight cut on his brow and look of annoyance on his face. "You ok?"_

_The Welshman nodded, "Yeah, the grenade hit the Christmas tree, made a bit of a mess of it … and of my clothes."_

_Rob grinned, "Ok, put a chit in for the cleaners when we get back," and chuckled at the brief and pointed answer that came down from above as Dai made his way to the hatch. _

_The Captain joined them on the wing and all three watched as the dhow came into view approaching the still turning zodiac. Obviously believing they were now out of range, the zodiac turned to follow the retreating dhow as both headed towards the Somali coast forming the blurred band of brown to the south. The Captain turned to Rob, shiny smile in place as he shook hands and thanked the lanky ex-soldier for his help, then he turned and disappeared into the wheelhouse, already giving out orders and calling for a change in course. _

_Turning to face forwards again, Rick and Rob leant their arms on the railing, and watched the distant horizon swing across the bows as the ship turned to head north-west on a course that would take them into the Red Sea and on up through the canal into the Mediterranean. _

_Rob pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered them to Rick who shook his head and then gave the pack an expert tap which had a few of the cigarettes sticking up. He stuck one in his mouth, pocketed the rest and pulled out a lighter, shielding the frame with his hand as he lit up. _

_Rick allowed him a few drags before the questions burning in his mind had to be asked. "You said back there that you weren't Russians, what did you mean by that?"_

_Rob took a drag on the cigarette, the tip glowing brightly, then tilted his head slightly as he allowed the smoke to escape through the corner of his mouth. He turned his head to look at Rick, a touch of amusement mixed with speculation in the grey eyes. _

_"__You know which the safest flag to fly through these waters is?" and on getting a shake of the head, "The safest ships are all flying the Russian flag; they have armed guards aboard them who simply blow pirate boats out of the water and leave any survivors to drown. Attacks on Russian vessels have abruptly ceased." Rick couldn't fail to hear the slight tone of resignation just below the surface and his curiosity was piqued. _

_"__Uhm, ok, I … I thought that was what most people were clamouring for?"_

_"__You know anything about Somalia's history?"_

_"__I did some research before coming out on this job. It's been a country of political instability since back in 1884; the Berlin Conference granted the Southern portion to Italy and the Northern region, to Great Britain. They were fighting each other on their master's behalf during the Second World War, then both countries gained independence and were conjoined in 1960 … with borders drawn by England and Italy, which is apparently a major contributing factor to its lack of political unity. In 1969, Major General Mohamed Siad Barre carried out a coup and established a communist regime until his overthrow in 1991. Since then, Somalia's been in a constant state of civil war. Apparently, even the internationally recognized and UN-supported Transitional Federal Government doesn't control the whole of Mogadishu, the capital." _

_Rob nodded, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the railings and they both watched as the breeze carried it away, and it dropped out of sight below the ship's hull. "Yeah, those are the cold facts Rick, they tell you why the place is such a shambles, but what it doesn't tell you is why simple fishermen turn into pirates." _

_He raised a hand, pointing across the bows to the Yemeni shoreline where the Sira Fortress sat atop a rocky, volcanic outcropping behind which nestled the old harbour of Aden and current temporary capital of the country. _

_"__About five hundred miles north is Saudi Arabia, back along the coast is Oman, north of that are the United Arab Emirates, Qatar and Bahrain. Her Majesty's army has had a long tradition of quietly helping to train their armies; their officers attend Sandhurst and special forces train the personal security forces of half a dozen Sultans, Kings and Princes. They can afford to pay for that sort of specialised service; we're only too happy to oblige … and to hell with human rights."_

_He pulled another cigarette from the pack, lit it and blew a cloud of smoke over his shoulder. "These waters used to be rich in fish, a local fisherman could count on a half-decent catch with which to feed his family, it left little for anything else, but at least is was sustainable. Illegal fishing companies from Europe and Asia rob Somali coastlines of over $300 million a year, mostly in yellow tuna, and as if that weren't enough, there's a long history of illegal dumping off their coasts, most notably from 'Ndrangheta', an Italian criminal organization … costs European companies $2.50 to dispose of one ton of waste off the horn of Africa, as opposed to $250 a ton to do so in Europe."_

_Rick listened quietly as his companion explained a local situation he hadn't previously heard of. He wondered if Rob was one of those sent to train the rich sheiks' armies, there was a note of nostalgia there he thought. _

_"__Of course it's not the only reason a fisherman will turn to piracy, go down to the Bossaso docks, and local fishermen will confirm that piracy is a temptation. They might earn about five dollars a day if they land a decent catch. By contrast, those who go out looking to catch ships instead of tuna or swordfish, might earn tens of thousands of dollars from their share of any ransom deal. In addition, the family of a pirate killed in action receives a decent compensation."_

_Rick rubbed his chin, the man standing next to him was full of apparent contradictions as weel as in-depth knowledge of the area. "So you're telling me that you tried to avoid killing them to stop the families getting compensation?"_

_Rob shook his head, "Not exactly, that's just a side product. We were sent out here to keep the ship's crew safe and impede the loss of the ship. We're all three ex-soldiers, but we don't kill for the sake of it. Tonight, back in whatever village those men came from, there won't be any widows, nor any orphaned kids … assuming their injuries are properly treated. On top of it there won't be any money … or any compensation. I'd say we did our job."_

_Rick took in the wider meaning of the lanky man's comments and nodded in understanding. Perhaps he had been the one with a narrow view when he came on this trip, or job, or whatever he wanted to call it. He glanced up at the mast towering above the bridge, at the buckled plates and burnt and scarred paintwork halfway up its length, at the cut cables flapping to the ship's gentle rise and fall. He thought about his next move. He had a great piece with what had happened just over an hour earlier, he'd come on this trip to write about the piracy, he'd never expected to live though an actual piracy attempt though. But the conversation had made him realise just how shallow the story would be. He wondered if perhaps a trip to a fishing village of Sudan could be arranged, maybe interviewing a real, live pirate might broaden the appeal of his story. _

_"__I don't suppose you happen to know anyone who could get me and interview with one of those Somalis?"_

_Rob turned his head to face him, eyebrows raised in surprise. He considered him silently, then a thin smile twisted his lips before he gave a little shrug of his shoulder, "Might be arranged, nothing guaranteed though." Rick nodded in understanding. They returned to resting elbows on railings and peering out over the blue waters as the sun began its downward trip to the west. _

_"__What now?" Rick asked the man staring at the almost finished cigarette._

_"__We'll disembark at Jeddah, head to the airport and grab the first flight back to London. I believe some engineer has gone missing from a dam project in Brazil, looks like we may end up going over to negotiate the ransom."_

_Rick showed his surprise, he also noted the lack of old boys and old chaps throughout their quiet conversation. It was worth storing that bit of information away for later. "You deal with ransom negotiations?" _

_Rob shrugged, "Part of the job description," he joked. _

_"__Don't you just go in and get them out?"_

_Rob chuckled, "No, we leave that sort of thing to you yanks and Hollywood, half the time the local cops are in on it and when they're not, they're likely to go in shooting first and asking questions later. We prefer to get the poor sod out of there alive if possible and if a million dollar ransom gets negotiated down to fifty or a hundred thou, then everyone's happy … except for the insurance company and the kidnappers of course …" the last bit said with a wide grin as he straitened up and turned away. _

* * *

_**· "Christmas tree"- ship's signal mast.**_

_**· Hawse – Hole in ship's bows where the anchor cables pass through.**_

_**· A cable length - about 600 feet**_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15 – The Box _**

* * *

The grey light of dawn showed through the cracked doors. She stirred, shoulders stiff from the corrugated side of the container, the thin mattress barely insulating them from the cold floor. She couldn't help thinking of her own bed; soft mattress, clean sheets, warm shower … she shook her head, not enough energy to be angry with herself, but that was not the route she needed to go down, that would only lead to despondency. No, she needed her wits about her, to keep herself focused.

She turned her head to look down at the flaxen head resting against her shoulder and felt the rush of determination as she considered the possibilities. They needed to get away from here, make sure their warning was heard in time. Gently, trying to disturb her companion as little as possible, she eased herself away and pushed herself to her feet, padding her way across to the gap between the doors.

The wind had died down overnight and she could hear the early-morning bird calls, sounding slightly sleepy and not quite up to full volume. She leant her shoulder against the cold steel door and let her wright force them apart as far as they would go.

Putting her eye to the gap she looked out, observed the quiet farmhouse about three-hundred yards away, the silence and lack of lights telling her they were still asleep over there. She shifted slightly, bringing the front of the property into view. All four vehicles were parked out the front, the two, slightly battered pickups, the flashy, black Escalade and the coffee coloured van.

If she moved her head a fraction more, she could make out the dirt track disappearing into the trees, an old barn stood partially hidden behind the trees, its red, weathered sides showing neglect. She listened hard, straining her ears for any sounds that might carry in the early morning clarity. Nothing, just the dawn sounds of nature she was used to hearing up at her Dad's cabin, the sporadic, desultory chirping of awakening birds, the sound of running water somewhere nearby, perhaps a stream or some small river, water tinkling over rocks, barely loud enough to be distinguished.

The thought of the cabin made her think of her father, she wondered how he was coping, did he know that she was still alive? Or had he assumed the worst? Was he keeping the faith or had he succumbed to temptation? She forced her mind away, thought briefly of her boys, of Lanie, she knew they would be looking for her, but for how long? How long before the new call-outs, the fresh murders put her disappearance onto the back burners? Did they know she was missing or had they simply assumed she'd walked away …. No! They knew her better than that, her boys, they'd keep on searching for her, even if it was in their own time, she was sure of that.

She shifted the other way, bringing the back of the farmhouse into view. A few small outbuildings, shingle walls, a tractor that looked like it had seen better days, one of the front tyres flat, some machinery half hidden behind it … that was as far as she could see.

Something made her turn her attention back to the farmhouse, and it took her a few seconds to see what had changed; it was the light showing through the thin, partially swept-back curtains over the kitchen window.

She could make out the blurred shape of one of their guards at what she assumed was the sink, she'd been watching them, especially at night, when the bright lights inside gave her a fairly clear picture of the farmhouse's inhabitants. She'd been able to identify five permanent inhabitants and three, fairly regular visitors to the property.

She'd also studied the routines, especially where _they_ were concerned. At first there had been little opportunity, always two men, both armed, one keeping them covered, the other carrying the food and water. But over the last week there had been a slight slackening, perhaps their submissiveness was finally paying dividends. It had gone against the grain, but understanding the madness behind the motive had made her swallow her pride, bite down on her willingness to face off. She turned her head a moment to look at the still sleeping figure on the mattress over at the back of the container and shook her head slightly, allowing a sigh to escape her. They needed to get away, she'd lost count of the days they'd been here … was it twenty, twenty-five? Somewhere between those figures, the first few days had been blurry, the concussion leaving her confused, drowsy and feeling sluggish. There had been some dizzy spells, headaches and nausea until the effects had eventually worn off.

Another light had come on upstairs, the woman's bedroom, though the paling sky gave the lit window a pallid colour. The curtains were drawn briskly back and she instinctively took a step back, then grimaced in self-depreciation, it wasn't as if they didn't know they were here, and she doubted they were too concerned about her looking out through he narrow gap or they'd have rigged some sort of screen or cover … or worse still, shut the doors completely.

She stepped back up to the gap and pushed her cheek against the cold metal. If _she_ was up then breakfast would be brought over soon. Which of their guards would it be?

Once again, for about the hundredth time she ran over the routine, positioning and distances, shadows and obstacles, probabilities and outcomes if she got it wrong. There would be no second chance, of that she was sure.

The first rays of sunlight dribbled through the trees, long, elegant shadows stretching across the ground towards her. North would be somewhere to her left, South to her right. The problem was she had no clue as to where they were. The rain from the other night had initially been a steady downpour, bouncing off the top of the container like a constant drumroll, then the wind had come into play and the rain had started to beat against the right-hand side, the south-facing side of the container. Could it have been a storm in off the Atlantic? Was south or east the way to the coast?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of creaking hinges and her eye shifted to the kitchen door as it swung open. Alexandr was the first out, the gun held across his chest, muzzle pointing downwards, the distinctive wooden furniture of the AK discernable in the early morning light. Close behind came Denis, the younger man, barely more than a kid, carrying the plastic tray with the food and bottle of water, his own weapon slung over his shoulder.

She moved back, settled herself down onto the mattress and shook the sleeping blonde awake. Oksana pushed herself upwards, giving Kate a wan smile as the rattle of the chain sounded from the doorway. They both waited as the left hand door swung outwards, the pale sunlight pushing into the dark confines, an arrow straight line of shadow running down the middle of the container where the still-closed half of the door blocked the morning light. They both got to their feet, making their movements just a little slow, a little clumsy, eyes blinking and Kate holding up a hand as if to ward off the too-bright light.

Alexandr stepped into the gap, AK aimed towards the back of the steel box, checking them before grabbing hold of the second half of the door and swinging it open too, the farmhouse framed in the square opening, the two figures dark-fronted silhouettes as they stood with the sunlight behind them.

Kate made a show of blinking and rubbing her eyes, Oksana quickly following her lead. Denis stepped forward, placed the tray on the floor just inside the doorway and unslung his own weapon, an indeterminate hunting rifle as far as Kate could tell. He waved it at her and took a few steps back, the morning routine now down to a wordless procedure. Kate patted Oksana's shoulder and took the half-dozen steps to the bucket which served them as a latrine. The smell no longer offended her, acclimatisation just a question of time she'd discovered. Picking it up by the handle she stepped out onto the still damp ground and went round the side of the container, the slightly squishy footsteps a careful few yards behind her. She reached the shallow pit by the trees and carefully emptied the bucket before scooping up some of the lose earth with it and swilling it around the as best she could. She poured the earth over the recent addition to the pit, using the bucket as a shovel to scoop more earth over until the waste was covered.

She stretched as she straightened up, hand to her back as if rubbing away some stiffness. The running water came from somewhere below, out of sight of where she stood, but close enough to indicate a sunken streambed. She swung her head slowly, eyes taking in the surrounding scenery; in front of her, the ground slowly rising to a rocky, bush-covered ridge beyond the hidden stream, to her right, half hidden by the rust-streaked blue container, a few empty and overgrown fields stretching towards the treeline to the north, to her left …

"Dostatnʹo!" the impatient order came from behind and she turned slowly, keeping her face neutral and innocent as she lifted the bucket slightly, indicating the length of hose hanging on the weather-worn fence just beyond the back of the container. There was an indifferent shrug of shoulders and wave of the rifle and Kate moved towards the hosepipe. She set the bucket down, uncoiled a few lengths of hose and turned the tap on full, giving the latrine a good hosing while her eyes wandered over the fields, studied the distant tree line and tried to work out where the hidden stream led.

She didn't want to draw any more attention or impatience, so she turned off the tap, recoiled the hose and shook out the bucket before turning back and heading towards the younger guard.

Alexandr was standing over two yards away as she rounded the open half-door, cool green eyes inscrutable as the muzzle of the AK gave a slight twitch, telling her unmistakably to get her ass inside.

She paused by the front of the container, scraping the mud off the soles of her borrowed trainers against the bottom edge, making sure it was a little further towards the hinges than yesterday's. She'd barely stepped inside when first one, then the other door swung closed behind her, the chain rattling as it was slung across the locking bars and the padlock clicked closed. Footsteps faded and the gloom beat down on her, then she turned, stepped back to the doors and used her finger to measure the gap. She couldn't help the slight smile of satisfaction as she noted another fingernail increase in the gap. Each time she scraped her shoes clean, the accumulated mud on the front edge of the container meant the doors didn't close as tight. It was a pyrrhic victory, she knew the gap was still less than a couple of inches, hardly a viable escape route, but it did allow a bit more air, a bit more light, a wider view, even if only in minute degrees.

She moved back to the mattress and settled down next to the young woman, ran a finger across Oksana's brow and pushed her hair aside, the green eyes looking up at her trustingly and she gave her an encouraging smile. She picked up a banana from the tray, they didn't get fruit that often and she needed all the energy and blood sugar she could get. She picked up one of the water bottles and loosened the top, it wasn't bottled water, just tap water, but the plastic bottles were convenient and offered little in the way of weapons or tools, as did the paper plates and plastic tray.

They watched the patch of light on the floor alter as the sun climbed higher and drifted across the sky. Kate was thankful it wasn't summer, this place would be like an oven in a few months' time.

The sound of an approaching engine brought her head up, the gears changing as the vehicle tackled a rise in the ground and she pushed herself to her feet, moving quickly to the front and setting her eye to the gap.

The red of the Blazer flickered through the trees and then it was pulling up outside the farmhouse, mud caked the tyres and lower half of the bodywork … and it looked relatively fresh. They must be out in the middle of nowhere, she thought. Both doors swung open and she watched as the driver climbed out, the passenger hidden by the bulk of the vehicle.

The driver threw a look her way as he turned and headed for the front porch, but her attention was grabbed by the other arrival as he stepped from behind the Blazer. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, watching as the tall figure walked up the steps and onto the porch, even as the front door flew open and the woman threw herself at him, arms curling round his neck and pulling his head down for a kiss.

She turned away as they headed indoors, settled herself down and patted Oksana's leg as the young woman looked up at her inquiringly, obviously picking up on her anger. She gave her a confident smile, and began to go over the plan … if one could call it a plan … once again. The blonde sitting on the thin mattress next to her was bright, intelligent, but she wasn't used to danger or at least to living within the scope of danger.

The tray was back near the doors, one empty paper plate on the tray, the other half-tipped over the edge, both showing palely in the gloom, the banana skins were neatly folded and semi-wedged at the door, with a bit of luck they would add a little more matter to the accumulated mud, add another few degrees of aperture to the doors.

The scrunching of footsteps sounded from outside and Kate set her shoulders back against the corrugated steel, felt the coolness seeping through her shirt and sweater, wondered if the solid metal would somehow seep into her bones and sinews, give her the strength she might need.

There were several voices, the sharper tones of the woman, the deep, rumbling voice of the visitor, the quieter tones of Alexandr. Chain shackles rattled as the padlock was removed and then the doors swung open. Three of silhouettes stood stationary for a few moment, a fourth one standing a bit further behind, hands nervously fiddling with the rifle.

The tallest of the three moved into the container, feet crunching grit and mud against the steel floor. He stopped a couple of feet away and Kate felt the frightened woman next to her shrink into her side. She slipped her arm over Oksana's shoulder, gave her a reassuring squeeze.

The tall figure sank into a squat before them, heavy shoulders rolling under the hunting jacket he wore. His hand reached out, took Kate's jaw between his fingers and turned her head a little to one side, then the other. Kate clenched her jaw, fisted her hands to stop herself from lashing out. A deep rumbling laugh shook the man, then he stood abruptly, turned and walked towards the open end.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16 – Yuri _**

* * *

The call came in a little before noon and had Rick pulling his feet off the half-opened draw that served as a footrest and dropping the doodle-covered notes on his desk as he stretched for the handset.

"Hey Rob, what news?"

"I think I have the guy you want. How secure is you line?"

"Probably like a colander, let me call you back … same number?"

He made a note of the number on the screen and hung up before opening a drawer and pulling out his burner phone and a small plastic box with about half a dozen prepaid sim cards bought in different parts of the state and at varying times. He only ever used them when he needed to make sure calls couldn't be traced back directly to him or the paper, generally when he was getting close to breaking some big story.

Opening the box he selected a card at random and punched the sim out of the card onto the desk. He fitted the sim into the phone and activated it before tapping in the number Rob had called from.

"Line should be ok now Rob"

"Good, well the guy's ex-KGB, didn't like the way things were going in the new FSS and set up on his own. He's not cheap but I'm told he's reliable, kept in with the old lot and has a pretty good pipeline into the new service. Shall I pass this number on to him? You'll need to discuss process and prices …"

"Sure, that's great Rob, what's his name?"

"I'm told Yuri, but I'd take that with a shovel-full of salt" amusement in the voice.

"Ok Rob, thanks a million."

"Don't worry Rick, next time I'm over there you can take me out to some disgustingly expensive restaurant."

"I might even do that!"

After a few more pleasantries they hung up and Rick pulled the charger out of the drawer; the last thing he needed was a dud phone when and if Yuri tried contacting him. His conversation with Jim Beckett came to mind and he picked up the desk phone again, pulled out the business card Jim had given him and dialled the number. He assumed it was Jim's secretary who informed him the lawyer was in a meeting just then and he arranged for Jim to call him back at his earliest convenience.

Setting the phone back on the cradle, he looked at the scattered notes on his desk and furrowed his brow, fingers absently scratching at his temple, then he pulled the notebook out of his coat pocket, flipped the pages until he found an empty page and scribbled Yuri across the top before underlining it twice.

Then he began to list the people he wanted information on along with the scant details he had on each of them. He was contemplating the list and thinking how little he had to go on when the desk phone went and he absently picked up.

"Good afternoon Rick, my secretary tells me you phoned earlier?"

"Oh, hi Jim, yes … uhm, when we talked the other day, you mentioned you might have had some photos of the Lasyks?"

The voice on the other end turned careful, inquiringly hesitant "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you'd had a chance to look them out?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't … you think there's something in them?"

"Possibly a wild shot, I may be getting some info sent to me over the next few days, maybe next week. It would be good if I had some independent data to compare it with."

"You don't think what you'll get is the real deal?" Jim had obviously caught on to the somewhat vague phrasing Rick was using and was being equally careful not to be too specific.

"I'm hoping it will be, but I'd be more confident if I had something to back it up with."

"Ok look, why don't you come round to my place tomorrow evening, I'll get out the old pictures and see what I can find."

Remembering he'd said that his daughter would probably have more pictures at her place, he hesitatingly suggested Jim might also take a look there. Jim was reluctant, his opinion being that going through his daughter's items in search something that might or might not be there was tantamount to prying. Realising that the relationship between father and daughter must have left scars, he was happy when Jim suggested he ask Lanie.

They arranged a time, Jim giving Rick his address and then they hung up. He dialled Lanie's number and after a slightly guarded beginning, was able to get her to agree to head over to her friend's place and hunt out any old pictures that might look like they had something or anything to do with her time in Kiev. "That's if the janitor lets me in," had been her rider before she cut the call.

Feeling there was little else he could do for the moment; all the balls currently in the air might come back down successfully or hit him squarely on the head, he decided to set the next stage in motion. He was perhaps anticipating a little here, but knowing how slow protocol and bureaucracy worked, it was perhaps not a bad idea to set the ball rolling; of course, if it turned out he was completely wrong, then he'd look pretty idiotic.

Giving a fatalistic shrug and using his own phone this time, he dialled the number for 1PP, and a few moments later was talking to Frank's assistant, "Hey Abigail, how's my favourite Detective?"

The slightly husky chuckle of the Commissioner's Assistant answered his sally and then she added "Now tell me Rick, why is it you never call me up after hours and say that?"

"Cos I'm sure you'd shoot me down Abigail … and how could I survive that!"

"I'm sure you'd live Rick … I take it you want to talk to the boss?"

"Only if it's convenient, I can call back later or you can just let him know I've called?"

"Hang on a sec …" he could hear muffled speech as she covered the mouthpiece and then she was back talking to him, "… Rick? He'll call you back in about ten ok?"

"Ok, thanks, you're an angel"

"With a cracked halo Rick, with a cracked halo" and then she was hanging up on him.

Rick, spent the time on Facebook, jumping to Kate's and then on to Oksana's. Most of the information was in Cyrillic and the translator left a lot to be desired, but he was able to download a few recent pictures and took notes of the scarce information on her bio and info pages.

Roman Lasyk was listed as her brother and Oksana was down as an Art student at the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv. There were no new publications since the 11th of the previous month … almost five weeks earlier.

His perusal was interrupted by the vibration of his phone and he picked up, the picture of a group of three round a poker table telling him who it was.

"Hi Frank, thanks for getting back to me"

"You'd be pestering Baker if I didn't, and she's too valuable an assistant for me to allow that!"

Rick chuckled in appreciation and then asked, "How long can you give me Frank?"

"About three minutes, five max; I've got the community leaders and activists here for a security report and threat assessment meeting … unless you'd like to take my place?"

"Uhm, no thanks, I'll leave that enthralling entertainment to you. Ok, so I'll be brief …"

"Appreciated," came the interruption, the scepticism in the voice not lost to Rick.

"… if I don't get interrupted. The Beckett case," and immediately he could feel the humour slaking off, even through the phone. "I might be on the receiving end of some information over the next few days, it may or may not be relevant to her disappearance. However, it seems that for some reason I'm not very popular at her precinct …"

"I wonder why?" the deep, slow-paced voice appeared to inquire of no one in particular.

Rick's lips twitched but he ignored the interruption, "… and if it _should_ be relevant, or appear to be at any rate, I could do with talking to the detectives handling the case, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind putting a word in, preferably a request in triplicate for me not to get shot until we've talked?"

There was a short pause and a rustle of papers before Frank answered, "That would be detectives Esposito and Ryan you'll want to talk to, I'll have a word with their captain, make sure they lay out the red carpet as soon as they see you heading their way."

"Maybe Baker could bring the champagne round as well?"

There was a deep laugh, then "Ok Rick, leave it with me," and the line went dead.

He returned to Oksana's Facebook and clicked on the link to her brother's page. It was mostly blank, the cover image a flag of Ukraine, the profile picture showing a fist within a circle of laurel leaves. There were no pictures apart from the two at the top of the page, the personal information was almost non-existent and the friend list showed only his sister. It was as if the page had been wiped clean or never got beyond the first basic setup.

The alarm on his phone brought his attention to the time and he began to clear his desk, turned off the computer and headed down to the carpark. He was standing by the school gates, waiting for the exodus of screaming kids when the burner phone in his pocket went off. It took him a second to realise the tone was emanating from somewhere below his elbow and then he was quickly pulling it from his pocket.

The screen showed it to be a hidden number and he grinned, it was obviously a one-way communications system, whoever was on the other end, he assumed it was Yuri, not wanting to have his number listed on a stranger's phone.

"Mister Castle?"

"Yes"

"Some years ago you were on a ship in the middle east, yes?" the accent was fairly thick, the voice quiet, the tone inquiring.

"Yes that's right"

"The name of the ship?"

"The Santach, the SV Santach to be more precise."

"There was an incident, yes? A little explosion …. where was this?"

"Over the bridge"

"More specifically?"

"On the signal mast … the Christmas tree I believe they called it."

"Good! So Mister Castle, how may I be of service to you?" the characteristic shorter vowels and softer s's and r's softening the words, the phrases almost idiomatically perfect, accent reminding him of Brighton Beach … he'd buy it for the moment.

Rick turned his back to the other waiting parents and carers, keeping the corner of his eye on the school doors whilst he fished out his notebook. "I have a short list of names of some fellow countrymen of yours; I was hoping you'd be able to get me some background information on them."

"Ok, but first, the small matter of … remuneration .. you call it, yes?"

Rick though of Rob's warning about his being expensive and almost suggested that daylight robbery might be a better term, but not knowing what the costs would be yet he decided to keep his opinion to himself, just giving a grunt of assent.

"Because this is a matter from overseas, and you come recommended by mutual friends, I will give you a special deal, yes? Two hundred dollar per hour, with a deposit of five thousand, yes? Very special terms."

"Very special terms for you Yuri, not for me. I can get a PI here to do that sort of work for forty, fifty bucks an hour!"

"Ah, yes Mister Castle, but a PI in your city of New York is no good to you in Kiev, yes? You would have to pay for the flight, hotel, and then he is expected to find information? I think that is not so easy for him. Also, I have many contacts, I think you know this, yes? Two hundred is a very good price."

Rick calculated the probable blast area of the Leprechaun's explosion when he got to hand over the receipts and shrugged, he'd take cover when the time came. He knew there was no negotiating here, this was not a guy picked randomly out of a phone directory, this was an ex-KGB officer with contacts, the price was cheap, everything considered.

He agreed, allowing reluctance to show in his voice. Yuri arranged to send him the bank details to his phone and suggested Rick give him the list of names so that he could initiate the proceedings, adding "How deep do you wish this inquiry to go?"

"As deep as it can go"

"Ok, you are aware that the deeper we go, the higher the price?"

"How about you give me a report every … say two days? If there's nothing of interest, we leave it; if something looks promising you carry on."

Just then the doors to the school opened and the charge of the backpack brigade took place. Rick apologised to Yuri, explained he'd be right back and turned to search for his redhead. He spotted her as she stepped out through the doorway and waved to catch her attention. As soon as she was close enough, he held up the phone so that she could see it and then pulled her in for a hug and dropped a kiss to her head as she threw her arms round his waist.

Glancing quickly at the list in his opened notepad, he quickly flipped it closed and slipped it back into his pocket, taking his daughter's hand and making sure she was alright with him talking on the phone. They turned and began to walk back towards where he'd parked the car, Rick raising the phone to his face and apologising to the man on the other end.

"No problem Mister Castle, now the names?"

Rick scrunched up his brow, concentrating on the list he'd memorised, "Yegor Kruskov, I believe he could be from or live in Boyarka, he spent some time over here in the States, round about thirteen years ago." Yuri had him spell the name out just to make sure, snorted in disdain at the few facts supplied and then asked him to continue.

"The Lasyk family, parents Andrey and Elena, son Roman, younger daughter Oksana, living in Kiev in the mid-nineties," he decided to leave out what he had found on Facebook, let Yuri do his own research he thought, smiling down at his daughter who's bright blue, inquisitive eyes kept darting between the pavement and his conversation.

"Is that all Mister Castle? You know how many Lasyks are in Kiev, it … it is like Smith in New York!"

"Two hundred dollars an hour, Yuri, what do you expect?"

For a moment, silence, then as they reached his car, Rick opening the door and helping his daughter in, there was a chuckle on the phone, "Ok, next?"

"Yanina Tyahnybok, twenty-two, arrived at JFK on Monday 17th, I have no other information on her I'm afraid."

"From Kiev?"

"I don't know, it's possible, I'll have more information on her in a day or two …" he thought about the little information Lanie had been able to give him, she wasn't the ME on the case but managed to get what she had from Hardass, though maybe he should start thinking of him as Esposito; if they did get together to talk, he needed to keep things civilised.

Yuri read the list back to him as he strapped Alexis into her booster seat, phone clamped between ear and shoulder and Rick confirmed the scant information. Closing the rear door he made his way round to the front of the car, telling Yuri he'd arrange for the money transfer within the hour before hanging up and climbing into the car.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter 17 – Dusk _**

* * *

The narrow strip of sky darkened slowly, turning from puffy grey to angry purple, the scudding clouds catching the fading evening light and threatening rain. She considered the options, getting away at night was both difficult and dangerous, a misstep, a stumble, an unseen hole in the ground and one or both of them could end up with a twisted ankle or worse.

On the other hand, unless they had night vision goggles, the guards would be in the same boat, torches would help them but would also give away their positions, allowing her to keep away or circle around behind them, it would be very much a cat and mouse game if they made it as far as the trees.

However the weather was making her second think it. Again, rain would help to hide them, if it was heavy enough, even wipe away their tracks. On the other hand, it would make the terrain that much more treacherous, make a slip more likely, it would also, over time become a an issue, they would be soaking wet, probably cold, god knows how far from help.

Following the stream downhill would, with luck, lead them to a river, and a river meant eventually finding a town, a city, maybe even just a friendly farmer … civilisation. However, flash floods could easily kill them, they weren't equipped for survival, and getting caught by an impassable stream or river could be just as lethal.

They had nothing but the clothes they were wearing, the two thin blankets which would offer little in the way of warmth or protection. Each time she'd been allowed out to empty their latrine and hose it out she'd kept a sharp eye out for anything that might come in handy. The hosepipe might have made a semi-practical substitute for a rope, but the end attached to the tap had been affixed with a double strand of wire, now rusted, a couple of discreet tries proving the impossibility of releasing it without cutters or pliers. A couple of the weathered wooden fence poles had been a little loose, the long, rusty nails fixing them to the uprights a possibly handy option in the way of basic tool and weapon. Each time she'd unrolled the hosepipe, she'd used her weight against the poles, inching them further and further apart, a little at a time. The water bottle was almost empty, she hoped they could fill it at the stream if they could get that far without getting caught.

_Her biggest concern was the young woman next to her. Would she be able to cope? She was hardly used to strenuous physical exercise, if they made a run for it, Sana would hold her back, she'd have to calculate a slower pace and opt for less risky routes … _

_She'd thought about taking the easy … or easier … way out, follow the track the vehicles used; eventually it would lead to a road, but it would also be the logical escape route, and all their captors needed to do was drive a certain distance past them, spread out and work their way back. They would get caught too easily trying to get out that way. She'd quickly discarded the option of going for one of the vehicles; she couldn't know if the keys were left in the ignition or not, also they would be running towards the enemy rather than away, straight into the light from the windows and porch rather than into the darkness of the trees … no the vehicles out front were a no-go. _

_Of course, the whole thing depended on the laxity of the guards. Their guard's shifts were rotated daily, one pair serving the evening meal and the following morning's breakfast before the other pair took over for the next two … they got no lunch … and to be honest, with the cramped conditions and lack of exercise, breakfast and dinner were sufficient, the food was reasonable, probably the same as the rest of the crew ate, a predominance of cabbage being Kate's main objection, though she kept it to herself. _

_Alexandr and Denis had remained pretty attentive, the first always carrying his weapon at the ready, remaining a few steps behind and to the side of Denis, offering himself a clear field of fire and annulling any possibility of her overpowering them or getting clear. The younger man always carried the tray, set it down just inside their box and then stepped back before unshipping the rifle from his shoulder … _

_However the other two, Sergiy and Rostik had begun to relax, the apparent submissiveness of the two women lulling them into overconfidence. At first, Kate had expected the woman to berate them, to call them out on it, but either she was unaware of the subtle changes or was unconcerned by them. _

_Kate had first noticed it about ten days previously, at breakfast time. As Sergiy had approached with the morning tray, Rostik had lingered behind, AK still slung over his shoulder, his attention more on the field off to their right than on the prisoners. With the one door opened, Sergiy had bent down to place the tray on the floor, his eyes momentarily off the women and a quick glance through the narrow aperture had shown Kate the abstracted figure of Rostik still halfway between the farmhouse and the container, his attention totally self-absorbed as he scratched himself. _

_Had she been on her own, Kate would have chanced it, would have thrown a vicious kick at Sergiy's descending head, would have gone for the gap and raced round the container, placing it between herself and the distracted Rostik, would have jumped the fence and tried to make it up and over the ridge beyond it before the people in the farmhouse could get themselves organised … but even as she'd thought it, the realisation that the unexpectedness would probably catch Sana out, whatever precious seconds she could gain before Rostik unslung his AK would probably be lost as she tried to get Sana to follow her. _

_So she allowed herself to relax, released her suddenly clenched muscles, watched as Sergiy straightened up, completely unaware of how close he'd come to having his head kicked off his shoulders, watched as he'd stepped back and swung the door closed before replacing the chain and padlock. _

_The following day she'd observed as the evening meal was served. Sergiy, without the door-opening collaboration of Rostik, unconcernedly placed the tray on the tree root a few feet from the container's doors, unlocked and swung open the left-hand door, retrieved the tray, his back to her while Rostik prowled several yards further back, his own weapon on its sling over his shoulder, his eyes watching Sergiy uninterestedly as he pulled on a cigarette. _

_After that, Kate had told Sana roughly what to expect. Had warned her that as and when she decided to act, Sana was to be ready to follow her; she would need to grab both blankets and the water bottles and stick close to Kate as soon as they made their break. She also began a daily exercise routine for the two of them, sit-ups and push-ups and knee bends, exercises that could be easily done within the confined space and would allow their muscles to regain a little strength, a little elasticity. _

_Their five week confinement had softened her normally toned muscles, and their diet was not exactly designed for prolonged bursts of energy; she was careful to not overtax herself and especially Sana. They also began to keep back a little of the food; the occasional piece of fruit, the pair of cellophane wrapped biscuits which appeared on the tray every now and again. The fruit mostly had to be eaten within a day or two before it became soft or spoilt, but it allowed them to hide the next pieces, the small space between mattress and rear wall becoming their storeroom. _

_Each time Sergiy and Rostik were on duty, Kate carefully observed them. She smiled a few evenings later when on hearing the kitchen door hinges, she watched Rostik let the door swing to behind him and then sit on the porch step as he ate a sandwich, the subservient Sergiy left to deliver dinner on his own. _

_She watched carefully as he repeated the procedure from previous days, opening the one half of the door, turning his back on them while he retrieved the tray from the tree stump, his head-down position as he set the tray on the floor just inside the box. Kate weighed up the possibilities, attacking him outside while his back was turned or when he was bending down with the tray?_

_Outside would give her more space to move, but would also draw Rostik's attention sooner, attacking him in the doorway might just give her a few extra seconds, the dark container would offer little clue as to the reason for Sergiy's collapse, he might have tripped, lost his balance … might even go unobserved … it would give them a few extra seconds. _

Lights shone through the farmhouse windows, the gloom outside a combination of the gathering storm clouds and the fast-disappearing daylight. Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding far away and seeming to echo around them; they must be up in the mountains somewhere … it was the type of rolling thunder she heard up at her Dad's cabin, thunder which echoed round the craggy hilltops and mountains of the Black River.

It was curiously windless, the usual sound of rustling leaves and soughing boughs absent from the gathering gloom, as if nature were holding its breath, the distant thunder, the drumroll of climactic expectation.

The visit two days earlier was making her fret, she had a feeling time was running out. Kate thought back to the expression in his eyes as he'd grabbed her chin, twisting her head first one way, then the other. Could anger be carefully hoarded and nurtured that long? It had happened over sixteen years ago … almost seventeen … back when she was still a child, despite her protestations. She found it hard to believe, she herself had long ago forgotten all about it; had it really rankled that much? The green eyes had stared long and hard into her own and she knew it was a completely fanciful idea to believe she'd seen something dark and sinister stir within.

The sound of squeaking hinges brought her attention to the present. She was on her feet in seconds, eye glued to the narrow gap as she stared out into the gathering darkness. It was probably earlier than she thought, the darkness brought on by the lowering clouds pushing westwards overhead.

Light spilled out onto the rear porch and across the ground and she watched as first Sergiy and then Rostik blocked the doorway before moving out onto the rear porch and letting the door swing closed behind them. Yellow swathes of light shone onto the bare ground outside the windows, casting the rest of the area into even darker gloom. She watched the shape of the approaching guard, the light catching a shoulder, highlighting the edge of the sleeve, the rolling bottle of water catching and reflecting some of the light from the kitchen window.

Her eye moved back beyond him, trying to pierce the gloom, discovered and settled on the darker shape just visible against the lighter colour of the kitchen door, nose and cheekbone catching the faint light through the curtained, glass top of the door. Her eye flicked forwards; Sergiy was halfway across the space between farmhouse and container, then back again to the darker bulk which hadn't moved from near the steps.

She called out softly, not moving from where she could observe, but hearing the sounds as Sana began to gather up the blankets, placing the almost-empty bottle and their meagre food supply inside them before whispering she was ready.

Footsteps approached and Kate quickly turned her head to glance back at the young woman, saw her crouched in front of the mattress ready to spring to her feet. She gave a silent nod of approval, though Sana probably couldn't see her in the gloom, and then turned her head back to the gap between the doors.

She could now make out Sergiy bending down to set the tray on the tree stump, straighten up and turn towards them. She took a step back and to the side, an arms-length from the right-hand door. She listened as the key was turned in the padlock, the sound of rubbing metal and clanking chain as it was removed from across the doors, watched the left-hand door swing open and a paler patch of gloom … it could hardly be called light … sweep across the floor and stop short of the dark bulk of the crouching Sana.

She held her breath, expecting an exclamation of surprise, some deviation from the established routine, the sudden realisation of her missing bulk at the far end of the container … footsteps moved away and she took a quick look, saw his back to her as he reached for the tray, pushed her eyes beyond him to the distant porch, panicked a moment as she failed to detect Rostik, then gave a silent prayer of thanks as she saw the brightening glow of a cigarette a little to the left of the steps.

Quickly she ducked her head back behind the closed half of the door, adjusted her balance and focused on the lower half of the open gap, imagined the foot landing on the steel floor just inside the gap, the arms lowering the tray towards the ground, the head swinging forwards and downwards …


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18 – Pictures from Kiev _**

* * *

Jim opened the door to his knock and waved him in, offering to take his wet coat and hanging it up on the hook behind the front door, a mat on the floor catching the drops which still clung to the hem, despite the shaking he'd given it on entering the building and the ride up in the lift. Rick allowed his eyes to wander round the room. It was obviously a man's room, not necessarily masculine; there were several delicate pieces of porcelain, some photographs in silver frames, a William James Bennett print of View of South Street hung in the small dining area. The room was what he'd call coffee coloured, browns and beiges, comfortable and easy on the eye, the lack of feminine touch, obvious.

A couple of shoe boxes sat on the coffee table, one with its lid removed showing a number of envelopes and photographs with several other's scattered on the table beside it. His eyes were drawn upwards to an oil of a striking young woman hanging on the wall behind the leather couch, the resemblance to the Kate Beckett pictures in his folder suggesting it was a portrait of Johanna Beckett.

He accepted Jim's offer of a coffee and took a seat on the couch, his eyes following the older man as he went behind the kitchen counter and started getting everything ready, allowed them to wander over the pale oak floors, the ochre curtains which were drawn over the windows despite the early hour, hiding the dismal views of the rain soaked city and dulling the patter of heavy raindrops which pelted the windows in a gusty splatters each time the wind picked up. A whiskey would have gone down well, but he was mindful of where he was and discarded the thought almost immediately. Jim was pouring the coffee into a couple of cups and the aroma wafted gently across the room.

His eyes went back to the lawyer, took in the look of weariness around the eyes, the general appearance of tiredness and couldn't help wondering how he was coping. The eyes were clear, there'd been no smell of alcohol on his breath when he'd greeted him and Lanie had confirmed that he seemed to be taking it as well as could be expected. It must be killing him in so many ways!

Jim carried the cups over, hands steady and set them down on the table before straightening up. For a moment he stood still looking down at the photos scattered over the table and Rick caught the look of helplessness which clouded his eyes. He'd already made the decision to follow through on the mysterious disappearance of the detective, intrigued by the enigmatic case, but the look on her father's face strengthened his resolve.

Jim sat in the armchair on the right and they both picked up their cups, taking a couple of sips of coffee, comfortable in the silence, the way men who get on often are. They made small talk after a little, about the awful weather, the chaos the roadworks on Houston were causing, the likely outcome of the court case that Rick's article on the city's building inspectors had forced into the public domain.

Eventually the cups were set down, pushed aside and both men leant forwards, elbows on knees as Jim pointed with his chin to the two dozen or so pictures on the table top. "Those were the only relevant ones I could find. A few have names and places written on the back, the others …" he gave a little lift of the shoulders, uncertainty as to the value of them plain in his features and body language.

Rick picked up the first one, it was obviously a family group; a tall, good-looking man stood in the centre of the group, one arm round the shoulders of an attractive blonde who in turn had an arm round a teenage Kate Beckett. To the right of the father stood a younger version of him, probably late teens, early twenties, unsmiling face looking back at the camera in youthful disdain. Holding onto his hand and staring at the camera in gap-toothed laughter was a little girl of perhaps six or seven, blonde hair tied into a braid which fell down one shoulder.

Rick turned the picture over in his hand and looked at the adolescent writing on the back, _Me with Mr. and Mrs. Lasyk, Roman and Oksana_ and below the date. There were several other family shots, one showed them sitting round a table playing cards, Roman next to Kate, everyone staring smilingly at the camera except for Roman who was staring at the tawny-haired girl next to him. Several pictures showed Kate with Oksana, the young girl either on her lap, clinging to her back piggy-back style or stretched out on her bed as the young Kate told her something amusing. Several showed Kate and Roman, sitting on a swing seat laughing or astride bicycles, each with a foot on the ground as they posed for the shot. One showed a group of teens, four boys and three girls, Roman and Kate amongst them. He flipped the picture but there were no annotations to help him identify the others. The next one drew his attention especially; Kate's hair was a little longer than in the earlier ones and other than indicating that it was a later photograph, it wasn't what really drew his attention. It was the space between Kate and Roman, not just a physical distance, but one that came off the paper emotionally. Oksana sat between them on a wooden bench, but there was a stiffness to the two on either side of the young girl that could almost be felt.

He went back to the other pictures, picked them up and discarded all that didn't have both Kate and Roman in them. Then he began to set the remainder out chronologically, though a few he had to guess at as they didn't have anything written on them.

Rick stared down hard at the row of eleven photos, ignoring the obvious interest from Jim who was also leaning forward and staring at the pictures. "What is it?"

Rick spun each of the pictures so that Jim could see them properly and then leant back slowly, nodding to the four rows of photos and asking, "What do you notice about those?"

Jim, twisted his head slightly as he took them in, then turned to look at Rick, hesitant realisation hitting him even as he stretched out a hand to touch the last picture slightly. "Something happened between those two."

Rick nodded, pushed the last two pictures aside and turned them slightly so that both he and Jim could see them clearly. The first of them was at a beach and showed Kate laughing as Oksana clung to her screaming and Roman splashed them with water … the other was of them sitting either side of Oksana on the wooden bench, the obvious coldness between them almost palpable.

"You think this has something to do with her disappearance?" stunned disbelief in Jim's voice.

Rick shrugged, "If it wasn't for all the coincidences I'd doubt it. I mean, what would something that happened between a couple of teenagers over a decade ago have to do with your daughter's disappearance? Under other circumstances I'd ignore it …. but every time I turn round, something related to Kiev pops out of the woodwork. I'm beginning to think that though this may not be the motive, it could well be a clue."

A worried Jim chewed his lip, picked up the photo and ran his thumb over it as if he could bring his daughter back by touch alone. Then he picked up one of the other ones, the one that showed Roman and his daughter sitting next to each other amongst the group of unknown friends. They weren't holding hands or anything overt, but for the first time, despite having glanced at the photo a hundred times over the years, he was aware of the way they sat next to each other, shoulders brushing, grinning at the camera. The kid was too old for her, but it was too late now, had been too late even then. What had happened? What had the son-of-a-bitch done to his daughter?

Rick watched her father, saw the belated realisation hit home, the helpless inability to do anything about it pull at the corners of his eyes, draw the already thin lips even thinner over clenched teeth. He could only imagine what he was going through, picturing something similar happening to his daughter made his throat tight, dried his mouth … and it was only imagination. Hesitatingly, he cleared his throat and waited for the lawyer to look at him. "Would you mind if I borrowed these pictures for twenty-four hours? I'll make copies and bring them back to you tomorrow …"

Jim glanced down at the picture he was holding, then with a resigned sigh nodded, handing it back to Rick and rubbing both his hands over his face. He got to his feet as Rick stood and gathered up the coffee cups to carry them over to the kitchen while Rick gathered up the photos. Returning, Jim fished out one of the envelopes from the shoebox and handed it to Rick who slipped the photos into it before placing them in the inside pocket of his jacket.

When he looked up he found Jim staring at him, eyes dark in the pale face. "You'll find her, won't you Rick?"

It was almost a statement, rather than a question, the dark eyes burning into him. For a moment he felt like denying any possibility, the burden suddenly too much, but then he thought of his own daughter, of Alexis disappearing into the dark of the night …

He swallowed, took a step closer to the lawyer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "We'll find her Jim, you and me both." It was quietly said, with as much conviction as he could put into it. For a moment the man seemed to be staring into the distance, seeing something that was not on view for Richard Castle. Then he straightened his shoulders, stood straight and patted the writer's arm, a glimmer of a smile touching his lips and his eyes.

"Thanks, I …. I guess I needed a bit of assurance for a moment there."

"You're welcome Jim, and if you need to talk, or just come around for a coffee or whatever, call me, ok?" Slipping into his coat and holding out his hand to the Detective's father.

Rick took the lift down, walked past the post-boxes on the wall in the lobby and pushed out through the glass doors onto the pavement under the awning. Rain thundered on the canvas overhead, a deep staccato beat that seemed to have intensified from when he'd arrived earlier. Beyond the awning, pellets of rain hit the sidewalk and bounced several inches into the air and the more metallic drumming of the rain as it hit the cars parked on the edge of the pavement added another dismal note to the miserable scene. The swish of tyres on the street as cars sped past was almost drowned out by the drumming rain overhead and the very thought of trying to make it to the subway, of the smell of damp clothes and sweat in the overheated confines of the platform, of smelly, stacked-together bodies as the train trundled its way east towards the paper where he'd left his car made him change his mind.

He pushed up against the glass doors as far back under the awning as possible and called Lanie. She informed him that she _had_ managed to find some pictures Kiev, but no more than a handful. Finding out that she had them with her, he arranged to call in to the morgue and cut the call. His next call was to a limo service he occasionally used, for those occasions when driving himself … or more correctly, finding somewhere to park … was likely to be a problem, and arranged to be picked up at his current location.

He nodded smilingly to a woman who approached the doorway, folding her umbrella away and giving it a good shake as she got under the awning and looked at him inquiringly. "Just waiting for a lift," he said as she hesitated with the keys in her hand. She nodded in understanding, ruefully wished him a good day and pushed through into the lobby, closing the door behind her and glancing back at him as she reached the lifts.

It was almost five minutes later before the black Mercedes S550 pulled up beyond the parked cars, the sidelights blinking in the gloomy overcast and darkening sky. Lights had been on in the building throughout most of the day, but the encroaching darkness made those spilling out onto the wet pavement shimmer with the pounding rain. The driver's door opened and the chauffer emerged, expertly pushing open his umbrella and heading round the front of the car towards the awning, calmly ignoring the irate honking from drivers that had to make their way round the obstruction of the double-parked car.

Miraculously there was a space near the entrance to the University Medical Center, and Rick told the driver to wait for him. He ran across the sidewalk and up the steps, feeling the cold tendrils of wetness clinging to his ankles as both socks and trouser legs got soaked.

It wasn't Mike Estevez on duty today, however the taciturn cop with greying hair and a slight cast to one eye had obviously been primed to expect him and Rick was given precise instructions as to where to go.

Exiting the lift, he turned left, pushed through two sets of swing doors and eventually arrived at room 205. He hesitated a moment then pushed through the doors into the room beyond. He didn't know what he'd expected, but somehow the scene surprised him. The large room was slightly off-white; floor, walls and ceiling. Inset ceiling lights shone brightly down onto the tiled floor, glinted on the six steel tables which ran down one side. At the foot of each table, sat bright orange bins, the hazardous material symbol clearly marked on each one. At their opposite ends, scales and computer screens hung from the ceiling, giving it a curiously supermarkety look. Rolls of paper towels and buckets with utensils occupied the shelf underneath the monitors, and the draped sheet on the fifth table looked much like … his observations were cut short as a door at the far end of the room swung open and the petite ME stood there looking at him inquiringly.

He walked towards her, keeping his curiosity about the shape under the sheet to himself. Lanie turned away as he reached her and he followed her through into what was obviously the office. It was a small room, crammed with files and folders and boxes, floor to ceiling shelves sagging under the weight of records. A small desk was pushed against the wall to one side, a computer screen showing a half-completed report and a scattering of gruesome photos on the desk top the obvious reference material in use.

Lanie ignored his noticeable curiosity and swept the photographic evidence under an opened folder, indicating he should take the only other available seat as she sank down into the one at the desk. For a few moments she stared at him in silence, then asked "How's he taking it?"

"Jim?" and seeing her slight nod, "He seems to be keeping it together, but I'd hate to have to guess how much more he can take."

She nodded, fiddled with a pencil and then turned her eyes back to him, "What do you expect to learn from the pictures?"


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter 19 – Moonlight _**

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Her swinging foot caught the dark shape of Sergiy's descending head even as the young man began to realise that something was wrong. The kick knocked him sideways, his head bouncing hollowly off the corrugated steel of the container's side before he collapsed almost silently onto the tray of food and knocked the water bottle rolling onto the metal floor.

She hesitated for a second, considered trying to get the gun off him, then immediately discarded the thought. She'd already been over it all in her mind, trying to wrest the rifle from around his shoulders, getting the sling off the inert body would take too long, even now she was wasting time.

Grabbing the bottle off the floor she waved to Sana and pushed through the doorway, keeping low and glancing quickly in the direction of the glowing cigarette. The girl's hand met hers and she gave a reassuring squeeze, leading the way round the opened door and along the side of the container towards the fence at the rear.

Taking the blankets with their meagre belongings from Sana, she helped her over the rickety fence, added the full bottle of water to the contents of the blanket and handed it over the girl, whispering fiercely for her not to drop it. She could already hear the querulous call from Rostik and she wasted no time in climbing the fence and then putting her weight to the topmost bar, leaning back and feeling the wood move with her. Close up, the sound of the rusty nail pulling from the wood sounded deafening, and the second, now annoyed call for Denis was that much closer.

The first, heavy drop of rain landed on her neck even as the length of wood came away in her hand and she almost toppled backwards. Steadying hands kept her upright and then they were turning, crouching low and almost feeling their way towards the invisible water ahead. The bank caught her by surprise, her foot slipping as the soft earth crumbled beneath her and then came to a jarring halt about two feet lower down, her right leg bent at an awkward angle as that foot remained on the bank above. With a hiss she pulled it down, rubbing her thigh and thankful that it was no more than just a slight pull. Holding her hand up she helped Sana down the crumbling bank and then they both ducked instinctively as a bellow rang out from beyond the container.

The sound of water was louder now, as was the sound of approaching rain. Thick, fat drops thudded into the ground around them, hit them on shoulders and bent backs as they scrabbled forwards, wary of any further banks, Kate pushing the length of fence out ahead of her as she felt her way forwards. The sudden cold as her foot plunged into water made Kate stop, crouching down and dropping her hand to explore the stream. The water ran barely wrist high and stretching forwards she could feel the earth on the opposite side, it could be no more than about two feet wide and she decided the babbling that had made her think it was a substantial stream must be coming from a series of small falls, though the bank they'd almost tripped down told her that with a flash flood, this stream could grow to several yards wide and probably be extremely dangerous … and the way the rain was building, flash floods could be just round the corner. Quickly pulling open the blanket she felt around for the almost empty bottle and unscrewed the top, fumbled for Sana's hand and placed it within hers, telling her to fill it up.

Lights on the outside of the farmhouse were now coming on, the glow pushing through the steadily building curtain of rain, yells echoing down to where they crouched in the streambed. Keeping a reassuring hand on Sana's shoulder, Kate pushed upwards, caught sight of wavering beams of light quickly approaching, the dark bulk of the container offering temporary cover … but not for long.

Crouching back down she found Sana already screwing the top back on the bottle and as soon as it was replaced in the middle of the blanket, she grabbed the four corners, picked up the length of fence and pushed Sana ahead of her, feet splashing through the shallow water and then they were carefully moving forwards and to the left, keeping the container between them and the approaching lights as much as possible.

This time it was Sana who found the opposite bank, her knee knocking into it. Luckily the earth here was as soft as it had been on the first one. Setting the blanket on the top they scrambled up and were about to begin the climb to the ridge that was barely visible above them when torch light came flooding round the corner of the container and excited voices called out instructions. Kate quickly dropped to the ground, pulling Sana down with her and placed the blanket between their heads and the lights. Faces and eyeballs were the giveaways, the pale skin and white of the eyes easily discernible in the dark.

The beams flickered out over the ground, throwing rocks and bushes into sharp relief, initially they were bouncing over the ground well to their left, first three then four beams, jerking one way then the other, in the intangible hope of catching them as the fled. Then _her_ voice rang out, the exasperated tone giving precise instructions, and Kate watched as one of the beams swung upwards, found the ridge and then began to traverse it, first to the left, then to the right. A second beam shot out to the left, a good hundred yards beyond them, whilst another skimmed past them and then swung back.

Carefully she turned her head, keeping it low and watched as the first of the left-hand beams began to track up the hillside whilst the other came down to meet it, tracking downwards and a little closer this time. The fourth beam was moving randomly across the area, first up, then down, then across … there was no pattern and their intention was clear; the sweeping beams would get closer and closer, forcing them to the right, towards the steeper part of the hillside. They could chance moving when the two beams were near the top, but the fourth, random one could easily catch them out.

The sound of approaching engines made her twist her head to the right and suddenly two of the vehicles moved into the fields, lights full on as they bounced and made their way towards the edge overlooking the stream. The headlights lit up the hillside to their right, stark shadows contrasting with brightly lit brushwood. They would be easy pickings trying to make it across that lit slope. Doors slammed in the distance and in the backwash of light she could make out the two drivers heading back towards the farmhouse. No doubt they intended to get the other vehicles, with the torches casting to their left, and the brightly lit hillside to their right, it would only be time before they were spotted.

The sudden flash of lightning caught them by surprise, blinding Kate and making her duck her head instinctively. It was several minutes before she was able to regain some vision, to be able to make out the dark shape of the container behind them, the weapons catching the lights … then the crashing roll of thunder shook the very earth they were lying on, the rolling sound seemingly going on and on as the mountains around them caught it and threw it back, again and again.

Suddenly, she grabbed Sana's wrist, whispered urgently to the young woman and then allowed her eyes to skim the ground above them, trying to pierce the darkness, find the next patch of …

A second flash of lightning and they were scrambling to their feet, grabbing blanket and fence pole and scrambling blindly up the slope, branches from the low-slung bushes and stubby trees slashed across their faces and stung cheeks, knuckles knocked painfully against rock outcrops and feet slipped and slithered on unseen ground. Kate kept a silent count going … one crocodile, two crocodile, three …

On the count of thirty she dropped to the ground, pulling Sana down with her and scrabbling sideways until she felt the overhang of some sort of bush. She could barely see, her eyes still blinded, but she narrowed them as much as possible and looked back across the stream. She was expecting yells of triumph as they were spotted, had been expecting to feel the burn of a bullet … but it would appear the others were as blinded as they were by the lightning. The problem was whether they had ended up on some exposed piece of hillside to be picked up by the traversing flashlights or not. The next roll of thunder seemed to come quicker than the previous one, the rain now emptying down. This might be a help for screening them but could also make it a lot more dangerous, turning the ground into a slippery course which could send them crashing down the hillside at the first miss-step.

She decided to sit the next one out, allow her eyes to become a little more accustomed, try and spot the next point on the hillside to aim for. The sound of vehicles made her twist her head round to the fields on the right. This time, both vehicles turned and headed straight towards them, headlights bouncing up and down as the crossed the rutted and uncared for fields. The hillside around them took on the look of daylight, the greys and browns of the rock showing through, the greens of the vegetation looking almost black. Surely they'd be spotted? Kate squeezed Sana's wrist, forced herself to remain immobile as the lights settled and became stationary. The slam of doors behind her indicated the drivers were now out of the vehicles, the whole of the mountainside lit up like daylight … and for some reason, they had still not been spotted.

Another flash of lightning and they were on their feet again, the outcrop of rock about halfway up the hillside her target, the route previously picked out easily in the headlights. Unfortunately, running blind was a handicap … she slipped, fell heavily and felt her ribs take a heavy crack as she landed on a rock, her fall dragging Sana down with her and she heard a cry as they both slipped downwards several feet before her leg caught against a tree stump. She wasn't sure how far they'd gone, everything looked glaringly white, the slightly darker shapes unsubstantial and unrecognisable. Desperately she crawled back to her feet, ignored the pain in her side and pulling on Sana's wrist returned to scrambling up the hillside. Shots rang out behind them, bullets ricocheting off the hillside, one coming so close that it sounded like an angry wasp as it went past her.

Suddenly her fingers found a flat surface and she was scrambling sideways, her mind telling her she'd found the outcrop, her eyes unwilling yet to corroborate. Panting she pulled Sana up beside her, felt the soft earth behind the outcrop cede slightly as the toe of her trainers dug in and she pushed herself further up, the solid piece of rock blocking out most of the light from across the stream and she pulled the gasping younger woman in tight against her.

Slowly she was able to make out details as her eyes adjusted once more. What had appeared to be an outcrop was actually a boulder that had somehow got caught up there. Turning to look behind her, the lights from below helping her make out details, she could make out a shallow gulley running up towards the ridge above. Already the rain was causing a little rivulet to run downwards … it made the gulley both inviting and dangerous as a way out, it would give them reasonable cover and offer a slippery surface. She touched her ribs, winced in pain but thought it was no more than bruising, she didn't think she'd cracked anything though adrenaline could mask a lot.

Sana was nursing her wrist and a whispered check told Kate that it was probably no more than a mild sprain. Panting, still trying to get their breaths back, Kate told Sana they'd miss the next two … she had no idea if they'd been spotted or it had just been random firing when they realised what she and Sana were up to.

Sure enough, within seconds of the next flash of lightning, they opened up, bullets peppering the hillside, a few hitting nearby, most ricocheting off to left and right of their position. Kate couldn't help grinning, not only were they wasting ammunition, they were firing blind, hoping for a lucky shot or two. It also meant that none of them were likely to be mad enough to climb up here looking for them.

The rain seemed to become even more intense, a thick curtain of water sweeping across, clouding the headlights of the vehicles in the fields below and diffusing the farmhouse lights. The next roll of thunder seemed to be right overhead, making the whole mountainside shudder in concurrence and only seconds later the flash of lightning cast everything in white. They were both on their feet, bodies crouched low, feet scrabbling on the wet rock and muddy earth either side of the gully as they used the stunted vegetation to help pull themselves up, the slightly muted sound of firing probably more from their hearing trying to recover from the roll of thunder than any appreciative increase in distance.

Again, on the count of thirty, Kate dropped flat, feet propped against a couple of wizened bush stems, fingers hooked tight into a split in the rock. She was a few feet above Sana, her position enabling her to look down onto the scene below. Looking at the young woman below her she realised why spotting them was so difficult for those below. What had once been blue jeans and a green sweater was now just a dark colour which melded perfectly with the rocks around them, the rain soaked clothes with the added grime and dirt from making their way across the stream and crawling up the hillside had become perfect camouflage. Her blonde hair and pale skin were also streaked in mud and grime, wisps of hair clinging wetly to her face, breaking up the recognisable contours of her features. If _she_ looked anything like Sana, she reckoned they were almost invisible to those below … only movement could give them away.

Kate rubbed a hand gently against her side, felt the soreness from the crack against her ribs, then turned her face upwards. The ridge was perhaps no more than one more run … her thoughts interrupted by the next crash of thunder and she had to wait several moments before she felt she could think again. The storm was moving westwards; the seconds between flash of lightning and clap of thunder getting wider … they needed to get up over the ridge before the storm moved too far away.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20 – Hunted _**

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Their breaths eased slowly as they rested up, bodies prone against the sloping rock of the hillside, nerves cringing in expectation whilst consciously trying to ignore the occasional fire from below. Bullets whipped through the undergrowth, flung pieces of sheered brushwood into the air, the rounds burying themselves in the earth or screaming off in haphazard directions as they ricocheted off the harder rocks. Most of the fire seemed to be aimed lower down, the woman probably thinking they were still hiding within the thicker undergrowth, though an occasional burst would rip crosswise up the slope or shudder through the greenery near the ridge.

Kate ducked her head into her arm, closed her eyes and waited for the next flash of lightning. Even with her face against her arm, through her closed lids, she was able to detect the glaring flash of light. She gave herself a few seconds, then lifted her head and looked back across the stream. She could make out the shooters spread along the fence behind the container, four of them including the woman, the lights from the vehicles in the field bathing them through the heavy rain in a misty glow. Behind them, the farmhouse looked like a cheerful refuge, the curtain of rain softening edges and blurring outlines. Her eyes were drawn left, towards the track which disappeared amongst the blackness of the distant trees. A set of headlights flashed between the stark, black shapes of the trunks, moving away from the farmhouse. No doubt the two remaining guards were intent on circling round behind them with the intention of moving down on them from above or catching them as they crossed the ridge. It would take them a good five minutes or more to circle round, even if there _was_ a track that led behind the ridge; the muddy road, pouring rain and occasional blinding flashes of lightning would need a certain amount of prudence unless they were willing to risk driving off the track and crashing into the roadside trees.

She waited for the next clap of thunder to stutter into the almost-silence of the hissing rain, adjusted her grip on the now soaking wet wooden post in her hand and checked that the younger woman still had a hold on the blankets. Satisfied, she half-whispered, half-croaked a warning and again pushed her face against her arm.

With the next flash she was pushing herself off the rocks, feet scrabbling for purchase, free hand lunging for any suitable grip, her body squirming upwards, shoulders brushing aside the clinging dogwood or elderberry or whatever the hell it was, right then she didn't care.

The nail in the far end of the wooden pole gave her a little extra purchase as she hooked it on the brushwood above, the whole time her mind silently counted the seconds. At twenty odd she found a small ledge to her left, almost flat, several feet wide and unthinkingly went for it, pushing her body sideways and scrabbling round to extend her hand to Sana whose face was just a pale blur in the darkness below her. Their arms clashed, fumbled and then Kate had a grip on her sleeve, was pulling her up, guiding the young woman onto the ledge beside her and pushing them both down as flat as they could get.

Her mouth felt dry, heaving breaths rasping, her throat raw from the exertion. She turned her face up, opened her mouth and let the cold rain ease the dryness. The sudden rip of bullets through the bushes above them showered them in dirt, leaves and twigs, Sana's cry of fear smothered by Kate as she rolled herself protectively over the younger woman. The next burst was further to the left and down near the boulder they'd been using a few minutes earlier, bullets kicking off the rock in a shower of sparks and whinging into the smothering roll of thunder which even up here sounded further away. Had that been just a random burst or had they been seen? Kate doubted the latter, even with her eyes closed and pressed against her sleeve, she'd still been half-blinded on reaching the ledge.

Kate twisted her head to look over her shoulder, up towards the ridge no more than a dozen feet above them. Even through the heavy downpour, she could make out the waving branches of the trees topping the ridge. The illumination from the headlights was less here, distance and rain turning it into little more than a pale wash over this part of the hillside. The top of a tree on the far side rose above the rocky ridge, the upper branches shuddering and moving as the heavy rain battered them. It was the point to make for, the tree would mask their silhouettes which would otherwise show against the paler background of the sky as they topped the ridge … and they needed to make their move now, before the guards in the vehicle could work their way round and before some stray burst of fire cut them down.

She pushed herself slowly into a half-crouch, body pressed against the rock behind the shallow ledge. She could just make out the shooters below her, torches weaving across the hillside guns trailing the lights. Even if they were spotted, it would take them priceless seconds to line up both lights and weapons … she glanced back up at the tree above them, then took Sana's hand. Placing her mouth close to the woman's ear so that she could make herself heard, she gave instructions; they'd cover their eyes and move on the count of three after the next flash of lightning.

They waited, knees bent, bodies pushed tight against the rock, Kate adjusting her grip on the pole, Sana twisting her fingers round the ends of the blanket. "Go!" she yelled and even as she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to try and adjust to the growing gloom, her feet were pushing her up, free hand pushing off the wet rock as her other arm extended for balance, the rubber soles of her trainers slipped on the surface, she fell painfully on her knee, swore furiously and found purchase, her body angled sharply as she threw herself upwards, sensed more than saw her companion pushing up alongside her … then they were at the top, scrambling and sliding across loose rubble and sending a small shower of stones down into the darkness below.

They slid downwards, feet scrabbling for purchase, sharp shards cutting into hands and legs as they sank below the ridge, their crazy rush slowing to a stop as their momentum died. Kate looked over her shoulder, the outline of the ridge sharp against the backlit sky. Somehow they'd made it …. and suddenly she could feel the trembles settling in. She clamped her hands between her legs, twisted her fingers together despite the pain from cuts and grazes.

She turned to Oksana, the young woman's shoulders heaving as she tried to regain her breath, a crazy expression showing a mixture of fear and exultation on her face as she stared back at her. Kate wondered if her own face reflected the same look. They'd made it!

The next crash of thunder brought her down to earth, yes, they were now on the dark side of the ridge, but they would now be going down totally blind, the risk of slipping and suffering an accident all the more likely, and the arrival of the guards could happen any time. She turned her face up to the rain again, gulped in huge breaths of air and tried to swallow some of the rain water that filled her mouth, choking in the process.

It took a couple of minutes for her to regain her breath, for the two of them to do so. Her hands were beginning to sting and her legs felt tired; muscles protesting as the adrenaline of their flight began to wear off.

With a conscious effort, she used a nearby tree to pull herself to her feet, the sudden realisation that in the mad tumble over the top she'd lost her pole had her bending down, hands desperately feeling around for it.

Eventually her knuckles brushed against it and she let out a sigh of relief as her fingers closed around it. Checking that Sana still had hold of the blanket containing their water and small amount of food hoarded over the last few days, she helped her up and they began a slow but steady descent of the slope. This side of the ridge had taller, more mature trees, their dark shapes looming up around them, the upper branches silhouetted against the slightly paler clouds which steadily moved in a westerly direction.

They used the trunks to steady themselves on the steeper parts of the slope, feet slipping and sliding on the covering of wet leaves and earth. The next flash of lightning seemed further away, still blinding them as the whole of the sky lit up in an instantaneous glare of whiteness, the stark outlines of the trees around them blocking out some of it though. Kate paused, eyes blinking rapidly to try and adjust her vision. She counted the seconds until the roll of thunder bounced around the craggy hilltops around them, definitely further away, the ground no longer reverberating to the crash of Thor's hammer.

She was about to continue when a fresh sound caught her attention. She tried filtering out the hiss of the falling rain, the sighing of the branches as they moved to the slight breeze and pounding raindrops … she must have imagi … no! there it was again, fading in and then out. It was the sound of an engine over rough terrain.

She glanced up towards the ridge behind them, difficult to make out from amongst the trees they stood within. She calculated they must be about halfway down, though below them was almost solid darkness, making it difficult to detect how far to the bottom of the slope. Sana's head turned slightly, looking in the direction of the approaching engine which continued to fade in and out even as it came closer.

Kate took her wrist and when the young woman had turned her head back to face her, she pointed off to their right, away from the approaching sound. Sana nodded and then they continued their downward climb, though this time they also moved at an angle, traversing the hillside even as they eased their way towards the bottom.

They both froze as headlights lit up the sky to their left, then dipped downwards almost disappearing before rising again. The sound of the engine was steadier now, though still undulating as the vehicle crossed what was obviously a series of ridges or steep slopes in the track. The two women continued to move until the vehicle broke out onto a flattish area of ground about four hundred yards away and came to a stop, headlights illuminating the hillside.

They crouched near a couple of saplings, well to the right of the illuminated slope, the backwash of the vehicle's lights letting them see the two occupants climb out and stand quietly as they scanned the slope ahead of them. Almost simultaneously they reached inside, pulled weapons out and slammed the doors closed. One of them indicated something to the other, obviously instructions about the route to take. The second guy nodded and then turned to head off towards the further side of the slope, AK carried ready to be brought into action, head tilting upwards as he surveyed the hillside even as he began to move towards the trees.

The other one began to move towards them, eyes also scanning the hillside above him, weapon close to his chest in the low port position. The trees blocked him from view and Kate slowly adjusted her position, careful not to slip or make any unwarranted noise. She could see nothing, the rain deadening any sound that the guard might be making, visibility cut down in the pouring rain and gloomy darkness. The next flash of lightning made her flinch, blinding her and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. The storm centre was clearly moving westwards along with the scudding clouds, but the dark trees ahead of her had become blurred grey shapes as her pupils tried to compensate for the overload. She blinked rapidly several times, rubbed her eyes and stared forwards trying to detect movement as the grey shapes slowly took on a more solid consistency.

Her wet clothes clung to her body and for the first time since they'd made their break, she became aware of the cold seeping into her. She could feel Sana shivering against her shoulder and it added a new worry to her list of concerns. She didn't really know how far up in the mountains they were …. or even in what mountains. The container had been cold at night, but the mattress on the floor, the blankets and their shared body heat had made it tolerable. Out here, they had no cover from the inclemencies of the weather, little food and soaking wet clothes and blankets. They needed to get out of here and find somewhere to hole up.

Kate stared at the pickup, the keys could still be in the ignition … she glanced up at the illuminated slope ahead of the vehicle. Movement amongst the thinner trees halfway up the slope caught her eye and she turned her head slightly. It was several moments before she saw him move again. It was the guard who had taken the far side of the hill; he was moving upwards and across towards the middle ground, his elongated shadow moving over the hillside above him, he kept stopping, turning to look back down, head and gun sweeping the slope slowly before moving upwards again.

A sudden curse made her freeze, hands gripping the fence pole, the discomfort of the cold and wet suddenly forgotten. The swearing had come from somewhere below and in front of them, followed by the smothered rattle of stones bouncing down the slope. She slid an arm round the shaking shoulders of Sana and pulled her in close to her side, sinking them both down onto their haunches as much as she could, the pole in her hand moving ever so slightly as she adjusted her grip, digging the toe of her trainer into the ground, looking for that extra bit of purchase.


	21. Chapter 21

**_AN: Fist of all, I need to apologise for leaving this story for so long. Work has been crazy and a number of other things have intervened leaving me little time or enthusiasm for writing. However, I'm hoping to be able to do a bit over the next few weeks (can't promise though), so here is the next chapter. _**

**_As an aside, I'm curious to know what you guys think about the new season. As far as I'm concerned, the jury's still out on whether its total crap or not; I've yet to make my mind up about the route the writers have taken the show, but it seems pretty lame-assed so far …. What do you think?_**

* * *

**_Chapter 21 – Run _**

A darker shadow detached itself from the outline of a tree less than three meters away and straightened up, pausing as he slowly turned his head one hundred and eighty degrees. She held her breath and tightened her grip round Sana's shoulders, turning the girl's face into her as the dark shape of the head, outlined against the scurrying clouds above, seemed to stare right at them. Through the scraggly branches of the shrub they crouched behind, she could make out the whites of his eyes and slit her own as much as she could without losing sight of him.

The flash of lighting caught her by surprise, lighting up the hillside and showing her Alexandr ducking his head, Kalashnikov clutched in one hand whilst the other rose to rub at his eyes. Her own, squeezed half closed to reduce the risk of detection had suffered less from the searing flash of light. Instinct screamed at her to take her chance, to rush the temporarily blinded guard and strike him with the fence pole, retrieve the AK47 and make a run for it.

Concern over the girl pressed into her side and worry that the other guard might spot her before she could get her hands on the weapon made her hesitate and the then the long, slow roll of thunder interrupted her hectic thoughts. It was too late now, the dark shape of Alexandr was straightening up again, a shake of his head and then he was moving, a hand reaching out to grab the thin trunk of the tree above him, a pause and then he was pulling himself up.

The drop of water which landed on her lashes seemed to surprise Kate. The steadily falling rain had seemed to fade as she had waited with bated breath for Alexandr to move …. it must have been her imagination …. even now, as she heard the snap of a branch just a few meters above them, the curtain of rain was doing a good job of obscuring the details of the hillside. She strained her ears, tried to make out the progress of the guard as an occasional muttered curse or the sound of slipping feet moved away above them.

With a squeeze of her shoulder, Kate drew the girl's attention and putting a finger to her lips, she pointed down the hillside. Sana nodded, gathered up the blankets and began to move carefully down the slope. Kate waited a moment, checking for any suspicious sounds and scanning the hillside for a glimpse of the other guard. The rain made it almost impossible to pick out details and it was also smothering sounds. With a shrug, she turned, spotted the blurred shape of Sana already several meters further down and began to move after her, careful to avoid sending any rocks rolling downwards and giving their position away.

It took another five minutes to reach the relatively flat ground at the bottom. From under the shelter of an elderly spruce, she observed the surrounding area. The pickup stood temptingly close; wait for the next flash of lightning, run like hell for it and they might get away …. on the other hand, if they were spotted from the slope they would make easy pickings, even if they managed to make it into the vehicle itself, the AKs would cut through the bodywork and windows like a knife through butter, they'd be riddled full of bullets before they could even put it into reverse.

There was also another nagging thought which she tiredly tried to bring to the fore. It took another roll of thunder, now definitely further westwards, before she was able to bring the thought into focus. As far as she knew, their captors believed them to be trapped somewhere on the other side of the slope. Stealing the vehicle would let them know they had made it over the ridge and given she had no idea where they were, it would be easy for their captors to intercept them; they would know the tracks and roads and where each one led.

No, if they moved on foot, it might be daylight before the others realised they had got away and it would give them the added advantage of not having to follow beaten tracks, although under normal conditions, that was by far the safest thing to do. Her decision taken, Kate nudged Sana and pointed across the swathe of grass which covered the flattish ground to the saplings on the far side. "Next lightning, we run like hell for those, ok?"

The young woman nodded, took a grip on the blankets and closed her eyes. Kate balanced the pole in her hand, set her hand on the girl's shoulder and likewise closed her own eyes. The flare of light was visible through the thin skin of her eyelids, sending black spots dancing across her vision. With a squeeze of her hand, she rose to her feet, felt the girl do likewise and then they were running as fast as they could across the expanse of open ground, feet thudding into soggy ground, breaths rasping though dry throats, her mind hoping they wouldn't step into a gopher hole or trip over an unseen boulder.

They made it into the thin cover of the saplings accompanied by a long, slow roll of thunder. Sinking, gasping onto their knees, Kate looked back over her shoulder. Neither shouts of alarm nor spraying bullets had following them and looking back at the hillside she could see why. Even with the lights of the pickup, the opposite hillside was just a blur through the silver curtain of rain falling at an angle as the slight easterly wind blew across the open ground.

Pulling herself to her feet with the help of an overhead branch, she indicated they should move further in amongst the trees, screening themselves from any prying eyes. When she felt there was enough cover between them and the open ground, they began to circle round, past the back of the pickup and towards the track it had arrived by. Kate reasoned that the track would eventually lead them to a road or somewhere they could find shelter.

With the clearing well behind them, they moved closer to the track, keeping just within the confines of the trees and bushes. It made the going tough, and the temptation to step out onto the muddy trial and make quicker time was pushed to the back of her mind as she considered the dangers of getting caught out in the open. The stationary glow of the headlamps was just a vague wash in the sky behind them, a curve in the track and the first of the dips blocking the plateau from view.

The centre of the storm was moving away. Lightning flashes were less frequent and intense and the thunder rolled and echoed through the mountains but no longer shook the ground below their feet. The rain still fell heavily, though the dark, roiling clouds appeared higher and she thought she'd glimpsed a veiled moon through a gap in the clouds close to the horizon.

She didn't know how far they'd come or how much progress they'd made, but after Sana had tripped over a tree root a second time, she decided they needed to rest up a bit. Turning to the girl, she pointed up the slope to a large tree which stood stark above them, and they crawled and climbed their way up to it. Moving round till the wide trunk was between them and the track below, they collapsed to their knees and then turned to settle their backs against the bark.

Sana opened the blankets and looked inquiringly at Kate. The older woman looked down through the gloom at their meagre supplies nestled in the centre of the soggy cloth. Two water bottles, a couple of bananas, a couple of apples and four or five packs of cellophane-wrapped biscuits; two to a pack. It was hardly ideal survival supplies but better than nothing. With a sigh she picked out the bananas, they were the oldest of the fruit and were already a bit soft. The bashing the blankets had taken hardly improved matters, but at least the potassium would do them good, help them against muscle cramps.

They sat back against the tree, rain hissing around them, occasional loud 'plops' sounding as water drops from the tree landed on a dead leaf near their feet. Both tried to ignore the cold as their soaking clothes settled around them. The bananas were soft and mushy, being roughly treated and rolled amongst the bottles had done little to spare them, yet to Kate they were the most delicious food she'd had in ages. They shared a bottle of water, taking sips and letting the liquid fill their empty stomachs.

She was reluctant to move, but knew it would become worse if they didn't. With a sigh she pushed herself to her feet and helped the girl to stand. Separating one of the blankets she draped it over the girl's shoulders and pulled the edges together. The soaking material was heavy and would be far from comfortable, but at least it would help to keep the chill wind off her. Carefully gathering up the corners of the other one, she slipped it and its precious contents over her shoulder and with a deep breath began to make her way down towards the track, occasionally slipping and sliding but mostly managing to keep on her feet. She stood close to the edge of the track, looking back the way they'd come and straining to catch the slightest sound of an engine. The glow of the headlights had long since faded from view, dark trees and darker ground standing indistinct against the blurry curtain of rain. Deciding to take a chance, she stepped out onto the muddy track, ruts and puddles making it somewhat treacherous, but at least the going was much quicker than keeping to the trees along the side of the track.

Exhaustion made her slow to note the changes. When she did, she came to an abrupt stop, Sana bumping into her back and staggering slightly in surprise and tiredness. For the last several hours, they had been walking along a track where the ground sloped up on either side, the trees sometimes thinning out and at others becoming an almost impenetrable forest.

Yet it had taken her too long to realise that there had been subtle changes to the scenery. The ground around them had slowly opened up, the trees moved further and further away. Right now they were in the most dangerous place, out in the open with nowhere to hide. Her feet had stumbled over ruts and only then had she realised they'd come to a junction where another track ran across theirs. It was more of a Y than a T junction; tyre ruts cutting the corners where vehicles had turned off left or right. She spun quickly to look behind them, ears straining to catch the noise of an engine, eyes searching for the tell-tale bobbing of headlights. A quick glance at the sky showed her thinning clouds, the rain no longer falling in sheets but more a gentle shower. She turned a full circle, eyes following the retreating treeline and looking for anything which could offer them safety.

Almost hidden against the treeline, a shape with too-straight lines formed a darker patch against the straggly trees and bushes. They made their way towards it, taking a curving approach so as to arrive at one of the corners rather that right in front of it. Several times as they approached through the low bushes and tall grass, the flash of lighting had allowed her a glimpse of weatherworn planks and a dilapidated structure.

Reaching the corner, she set the blanket down on the ground and indicated Sana should remain quietly there. Then, moving sideways, body crouched, she approached what had once been a small stoop. A large, flat stone acted as a step up onto the rotten stoop, the handrail long gone; only a couple of uprights remained in place. Kate was extremely careful placing her feet, expecting any moment for the wood to give way and her foot to sink through the boards. What had once been the door lay half in, half out of the doorway and she moved through the gap into even deeper gloom.

She was puzzled by the faint clarity which seemed to lighten the back of the shack, revealing several uprights which appeared bowed or strangely inclined. The next flash of lightning revealed the cause. Most of the back wall and part of the left-hand wall were missing, just a few of the supporting struts still in place. The floor had mostly rotted away showing the joists running crosswise and the corner of the roof where the walls were missing had fallen inwards.

She turned to her right and waited for the next flash of lightning, hooding her eyes with her hands to try and make as much out as possible. The impression she got of the far corner was a messy, dusty and relatively dry area, several loose planks, a bottle, and some other shapes she hadn't been able to make out in the instant reveal of the flash of light. She recognized it was dangerous to stay here, their captors would surely know of its existence and it would be an obvious shelter .… hell, it had been the only one …. for them to hide up in. But they needed to rest up, try and get dry … and she'd keep a watch. At the first sign of the enemy they'd be out through the back wall and into the trees beyond!

She stuck her head out the doorway and called out to Sana, telling her to be careful to test the floorboards before putting her weight on them. They made it to the far corner with no more than a couple of scares as loose or rotten floorboards gave way. The corner held an unpleasant smell of damp and urine, but not strong enough to put them off. The roof overhead offered them shelter for the first time since they'd made their escape and though they could hear drips where the rain had found its way through, the floor was no more than damp; sheer luxury as they sank down onto it, shivering with cold and teeth chattering.

Feeling around with her hands, Kate was able to carefully shift some of the planks out of the way and in doing so her fingers, numb from wet and cold, brushed against something.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter 22 – Hardass _**

* * *

Lanie's question as to what he expected to learn from the pictures had several possible answers. Rick rubbed the back of his neck, a rueful smile on his lips, "To be honest? Not sure …. the probability is that her time in Kiev has nothing to do with her disappearance, but every time I look at this story, Kiev … or the Ukraine at least, keeps rearing its head."

Lanie tilted her head to one side as she looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "I know I told you that the case Kate was working when she disappeared involved a Ukrainian vic …. but that and a semester in Kiev some sixteen years ago hardly sets any flags waving!"

Rick nodded, "You're right, but let me throw in a couple more connections ok? Nineteen-ninety-five, Kate spends a semester in Kiev. Nineteen-ninety-nine, her mother disappears after a car accident … neither her body, nor the Ukrainian driver of the truck that was involved in the accident are found. Kate has a friend on Facebook called Oksana Lasyk..." and watched her nod in assent. "...apparently the daughter of the family she stayed with in Kiev, Okasana Lasyk has a friend on _her_ Facebook called Yanina Tyahnybok. Yanina Tyahnybok is the name of the victim found in the hotel and the case Kate was working on when she disappeared."

Lanie stared at him in silence, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock as she absorbed the information. Slowly she straightened up in her chair, abruptly closing her mouth and slipped a hand into the pocket of her scrubs, pulling out a small stack of pictures. "Ok, I'm convinced, it still sounds like a crazy connection, but you're right, that's too many Ukrainian references for this girl!"

She glanced down at them before handing them over and watching curiously as Rick quickly flicked through them. Several were of the same group of youths he'd already seen in the one picture Jim had found, the others were of Kate with the Lasyk family or with Oksana … there was definitely a before and after reflected in them, though nothing new to be gathered from these as far as he could tell. All the same, he added them to the pocket that held the envelope with the rest of the photos.

He hesitated and it wasn't lost on the ME who looked at him with an eyebrow raised in inquiry. He decided to go with it anyway and half-raising a hand in a mix of apology and defence he asked "What is Detective Esposito's relationship with Beckett? I mean, he seems fiercely protective of her and yet she's his boss right?"

He thought he saw a flash of anger in the dark eyes, but then she smiled, her shoulders relaxing and he wasn't sure if he'd been right. "Javi's like her big brother, he joined NYPD from Special Forces about the time Kate made detective, third grade. He was just a 'uni', but coming from the armed forces helps you fast-track through the promotions. About a year later he was made a white shield and assigned to help Kate and her then partner with investigations. Around the time her partner retired, Kate was made detective second grade and Javi assigned as her new partner …"

"Is that normal?" he interrupted.

Lanie shook her head, "Uh no, I don't think so. Normally she'd have been re-assigned to a gold shield ... first grade detective and Javi would have either been the third wheel or assigned to another vet. But I think the Captain had his eye on her … I mean not in …" he nodded to let her know he understood what she meant and she continued in slightly flustered relief, "Anyway, I think he wanted her to stand on her own feet, so he must have recommended the pairing. Javi's the brawn … and the tactician, Kate's the intuitive one …. and she just won't give up! They make a great team."

"How does Iri … Ryan fit in?"

"He was working undercover with OCCB, the organized crime control bureau. I'm not too sure of the details, but I think he was either burnt or close to having his cover blown, so they had to transfer him out of OCCB. About that time, Kate was shot in the shoulder during a take-down. Kevin was drafted in provisionally as Javi's partner while Kate recovered, but after she got back to active duty, no one seemed to know what to do with him, and he's been part of the team ever since."

Rick sat back and mulled over the information. A lot of it made more sense to him now, the protectiveness, the attitude; Irish being the Yorkshire terrier to Esposito's Rottweiler. It didn't surprise him from what he'd read and heard about her; the admiration and concern the men felt for her came from an instinctive brotherly attitude; the fact that she was both attractive and smart making that attitude even more understandable.

It still didn't bring him any closer to understanding what had happened to her. Yuri should be reporting to him any time now, and hopefully that would give him some fresh leads, but meanwhile …. "Do you think you could get Javi to talk to me, off the record and without the attitude? I want to run some ideas past him, but he seems to consider me an enemy .…" looking enquiringly at the ME.

Lanie couldn't help the curving smile which momentarily lightened her face, "Yeah, I don't know why, but he's sure as hell taken a dislike to you. Let me have a word with him, I'll call you if he agrees to a meet."

It was late morning and he was standing by the coffee machine waiting for his order when the burner phone in his pocket buzzed. He waited for the machine to finish dispensing the last of the watery coffee into the plastic cup and pulled out the phone as he headed back to his desk. It was a message with three lines of text, the first had a web link, the second said ID:_zapros247B _and the third, PW:_Kot_i_mysh_. PW he assumed was password and ID was obvious, so he dropped the phone on his desk when he reached it and settled into his chair. Typing the web link in, he double-checked to make sure the string of characters were correct and hit Enter.

It pulled up a totally illegible page with the word Яндекс at the top. Giving a puzzled frown he scanned the page then slowly scrolled down until he spotted a flag icon at the very bottom and clicked on the English version.

The screen changed to a page called Yandex Disk with the usual username and password boxes which he filled in with the supplied info before clicking the 'Log in' button. As the next page loaded it had an unfamiliar look to it though he soon realised it was a cloud storage site. There was only one folder and just to make matters clear, it had Castle as its name. There was no doubt this was meant for him. He double-clicked the folder and found it contained two documents, the first was actually named 'read-me-first' and the second was named 'Kruskov'.

Despite his natural inclination, he opted to follow instructions and double clicked the first document.

_Dear Mr. C:_

_Firstly allow me to tell you that your present was received and I have started working on our project. The other document you will find here are my suggestions for the new character, perhaps you could use some of these ideas, no?_

_For the future, I would suggest we use something more Nordic, perhaps you have heard of Tor? Or is it Thor in English? Here of course, we use Tor. _

_Regards_

_Ivan_

Rick stared at the document in surprise and some amusement. Then the amusement faded and he ran his hand over his chin speculatively. Yuri … or Ivan … was being excessively vague either from natural inclination and training or he was worried someone was on to him. The suggestion that the Kruskov file was some character ideas for a story was superfluous unless he though the files might be intercepted … but that was probably just paranoia, who the hell would be interested in this info …. or it might come from years of tradecraft which required everything to be hidden by smoke.

The 'present' obviously referred to the money he'd sent and the project was the investigation he had started. What had wiped the amusement off Ricks face was the reference to Tor. Yes he'd heard of Tor, who hadn't? Ok, probably a lot of people he amended. The reference to Thor was again just smoke.

He'd done some research into the anonymous network or 'Dark web' as it had been christened by the press, but that had been several years ago in conjunction with a story he'd done on white supremacists in Louisiana. The research had been on its use as a communications network for the clandestine organizations, but he hadn't actually got down to using it. In fact he wouldn't even know where to begin!

This called for another visit to the geek's grotto! Poking his head through the opening, he was relieved to find Dave on his own. The tech writer took one look at Castle's face and indicated a vacant chair before turning back to the satnav he'd been playing with. A few button presses later and with a gentle click the screen went dark and he set it down on his desk. Swivelling his chair round, he leant back, crossed his hands over his generous stomach and looked inquiringly at the writer.

"I did some research about three years ago but most of it was superficial and probably out of date by now, what can you tell me about the 'Dark web' and how you'd go about using it?" asked Rick.

"Ah! That much-hyped, mysterious place that we the media, would have you believe is a wretched hive of scum and villainy where you'd be well-served to shoot first if you hope to survive and activists will tell you it's our last, best hope for privacy and free speech, all alone in the night!" Rick answered the amused look on the other man's face with his own grin and settled back to listen.

"As with most things, the truth falls somewhere in between those two extremes. You have the 'Deep Web' and the 'Dark Web'; neither can be indexed, though not all that cannot be indexed is the dark web. But you didn't come here for analysis, you came here for instructions. Fair enough. For purposes of this question, I assume you want the dark web."

"First of all, if you want anyone who matters to take you seriously, drop the 'dark/deep web' thing. What you want to access are sites using the Tor Hidden Service Protocol. It works over regular Tor ... an anonymity network, but instead of having your traffic routed from your computer and through an onion-like layer of servers, it stays within the Tor network. You won't know exactly what system you're accessing unless they tell you, and they won't know who _you_ are unless one of you is careless."

"But given that you're the one starting out and they're the ones running hidden services, they kind of have you at a disadvantage if you screw up. Fortunately, the tales of people having their lives ruined by browsing the wrong sites and being hunted by Mafiosi bent on silencing them for having witnessed a mob hit inexplicably streamed online are massively overblown. At most, you might find yourself mercilessly trolled, get pizzas ordered to your door, or if you're particularly unfortunate, get Swatted."

"Swatted?" asked a puzzled Rick

"Yeah, its prank which isn't only costly in taking up law enforcement's time and resources to investigate false reports, but it can have disastrous consequences for the prank's target as well. There was a case last month in Harlem; a Police SWAT team hit an apartment building where a 911 call reported there was a guy claiming he had three hostages that he would execute if he wasn't given $15,000 within the hour. When the police arrived at the apartment, they determined that there was a guy inside with three women. The caretaker didn't know if the threat was credible or not and told them he knew there was a gun in the apartment."

"To cut a long story short, the people in the apartment were smoking pot and thought _that_ was why the cops were there, the cops couldn't get the guy to give himself up … so they broke the door down and took him down with rubber bullets. It wasn't until after he'd been taken to hospital and everyone was interviewed they realised it had been a swatting incident."

"Uhm, but that doesn't happen often right?"

"Not that we hear about, no" answered Dave somewhat enigmatically.

"Ok, so this deep web and dark web, what's the difference?"

Dave scratched his head, crossed his ankles and said, "Ok, think of the web as an iceberg. There's the bit at the top that you can see, that's normally referred to as the surface web; the parts you're most familiar with, it's basically anything that can be indexed by a typical search engine like Google, Bing or Yahoo. The rest, what you can't see, is the 'Deep Web'. From a purist's definition standpoint, the Surface Web is anything that a search engine _can_ find while the Deep Web is anything that a search engine _can't _find. But there are a number of reasons that a search engine can't find data on the web; for example, search engines use links to index a page …." He paused as he saw the look on Rick's face.

"Ok, let me give you a practical example. Imagine you visit a travel site in search of prices for … oh, I don't know … a hotel in Sioux Falls for the last weekend in May, but you can only interact with the site like a standard search engine would – meaning, you can only click links to get there, you can't use those handy little search boxes. You'll quickly find that, whether there are hotel vacancies in May or not, you can't find the results you're looking for without a search box. That's an example of Deep Web content."

Seeing the look of doubt on Rick's face he grinned, "I'll give you an example closer to home. How many of our stories …." waving his arm vaguely in the direction of the news room outside, "are stored on our servers?"

Rick shrugged, "Thousands"

"Right, and how many could our readers access if they could only use the links on our web?"

Rick nodded in understanding, "Ok, I get it now."

"Right, so the 'Surface Web' is anything that a search engine can access and the 'Deep Web' is anything that a search engine can't access …. the Dark Web on the other hand is classified as a small portion of the Deep Web that's been intentionally hidden and is inaccessible through standard web browsers."

Checking that Rick was still on-board, Dave continued, "The most famous … if that's the right word .… content that resides on the Dark Web is found in the TOR network. The TOR network is an anonymous network that can only be accessed through the TOR browser and this is the portion of the Internet most widely known for illicit activities because of the anonymity associated with the TOR network."

"Is it difficult to access?"

Dave chuckled and shook his head. "No, all you need to do is to download the Tor browser bundle which is easy to google…" the obvious absurdity not lost to him. "It comes with installation instructions. Once it's installed and launched, the browser should connect automatically to the Tor network. From there, you can use a directory of hidden services to get started. But I'd recommend you don't use your home computer … get one purely for that, if things go wrong you can always just throw it out the window," he said grinning at Rick.

"That bad?"

"Well, let's put it this way, its where paedophiles, assassins for hire and the FBI Cyber Crime units hang out."


	23. Chapter 23

**_Chapter 23 – Kruskov _**

* * *

Returning to his desk, he considered everything Dave had told him and decided to take his advice and purchase a cheap laptop on his way to pick up his daughter. If he was going to go to the dark side, he didn't want his current laptop compromised.

Clearing the screen saver he went back to the document called Kruskov and opened it up. In keeping with the supposed fictional character, Yuri had set out a brief paragraph on the character which Rick scanned but promptly ignored, as he did the present tense used throughout the document. Below the introductory paragraph was what he was really after …

_Name: Yegor Kruskov_

_Born 10__th__ of April, 1961 in Vyshneve (Kiev-Sviatoshyn Raion) to Martina Kruskov (father unknown). Mother moves to Kiev (29, Mechnycova St) in 1964 where she works as a house cleaner. Yegor attends Nivky Primary School until 1967 and then the Kyiv Secondary School No. 189. _

_In 1979 he joins the 15th Motor Rifle Division, a part of 7th Guards Army stationed at Kirovakan and in 1981 is promoted to Corporal, First Class. (There is little in his records apart from the usual, which indicates he does not stand out in any way). _

_In 1983 he leaves the unit and starts work as a driver for the UVK transport and logistics company in Kyiv. (Records show one minor accident, again no complaints or recommendations). _

_In 1989 Martina Kruskov dies from cancer at the Isida Hospital and son Yegor moves from Kiev to Boyarka where his grandparents, Egor and Nastya Kruskov have a small farmstead. _

_Between 1989 and 1995, Yegor holds a number of jobs in and around Boyarka, none of which last more than a few months. (Police records show a number of arrests for drunkenness and disorderly behaviour, but nothing more serious). _

_Both grandparents die in a road accident in February 1996 and three months later, Yegor applies for and is granted a tourist visa to enter the United States. _

_There are no further records of Yegor until the 23__rd__ of January 1999 when he re-enters the country through Kyiv International Airport. He returns to Boyarka and applies for work in several companies from which he is sacked for 'unsatisfactory behaviour' (I imagine drinking on the job)._

_In May 2001 he is arrested for breaking and entering the Horilka (Vodka) brewery he had been dismissed from earlier that year and is killed two months later in a prison fight. _

**_Conclusion_**_: It would appear that the character of Yegor Kruskov is that of an unexceptional person who fails to excel in any way. It is probable that the death of his mother at a relatively early age pushes him to drinking and that this leads to his eventual downfall. There is nothing in his records to suggest that he may have been anything other than what is laid out above. _

Rick couldn't help but agree with Yuri's conclusion. Yegor Kruskov was nothing more than a sad case and not the executioner of some Machiavellian conspiracy. The final paragraph added …

_PD: If you should wish me to expand on the above character, I will gladly do so, but I believe it would be a waste of my time and your money. Some of the others are of much more interest I think. _

Rick printed the information out and added it to the Beckett folder before logging out of the Yandex Disk web and settling back to consider the options. It sounded as if Yuri had found something of interest on one or more of the Lasyks. Perhaps his suggestion to use TOR was down to that … but what could make a professional informant like Yuri want to use the dark web? Fear that his communications could be intercepted? Could this case tie in to something so big that those involved were powerful enough and smart enough to join the dots? What the hell had he got himself into?

Or was it just Russian paranoia at its best? Yuri might be Ukrainian, but both his training and his old masters were KGB … and there was no one more paranoid than they! He pulled the burner phone off the desk and messaged back _Will need to set up the Thor character: 24hrs_ before hitting the send button, shaking his head at his own slide into Yuriism.

In the end he decided to go all out for paranoia and purchased a second-hand refurbished laptop. Aware that simply formatting a hard disk did little to remove the data stored there … he'd decided that if the laptop got hacked it might as well lead to somewhere well removed from himself, offering a silent apology in advance to anyone getting trolled or worse as a result. He also called Haley, Dave's assistant and asked her if she'd mind helping him out again.

Several hours later he stood at his desk in his office, the soundtrack from _Beauty And The Beast_ filtering through the closed door from the room next door. Haley sat at his desk, hair pulled back in a ponytail and tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose as she plugged the laptop in and grimaced as the Windows logo appeared.

Pulling a chair over so that he could sit next to her he said, "Dave explained things very briefly to me, but can you give me more information on this TOR thing? And remember, you're preaching to a neophyte"

The young girl nodded, pursed her lips in consideration and turning slightly so she was almost facing him began, "Ok, some computers house the data stored on the Internet and these computers are known as 'servers'." The tone partly inquiring, partly doubtful, as if she wasn't sure this was what he wanted to know. He gave her an encouraging smile and nod and it seemed to ease her doubts.

"A device used to access this information, such as a smartphone or PC, is known as a client. Although clients initiate connections to get information from servers, the flow goes both ways. Data is exchanged across the Internet in packets and these packets contain information about the sender and the destination, and people or organizations can use this data to monitor who is doing certain things or accessing certain information on the Web. Traffic analysis is big business, and both private and governmental organizations spend a lot of resources on monitoring the information flowing between clients and servers." Again she paused to look at him. At his nod she continued.

"Tor … it actually stands for 'The Onion Router' because it uses a technique called onion routing to conceal information about user activity … allows you to browse the Web anonymously, though ironically, the organization receives the bulk of its funding from the US government which views it as a tool for fostering democracy in totalitarian states."

Rick couldn't help chuckling at the withering tone the last part was delivered in. Just then the laptop pinged to let them know it had loaded and was waiting to go. Haley quickly opened the Chrome browser, typed in _torproject_ in the address bar and then clicked on the _Download Browser Bundle_ when the page appeared before turning back to him.

"What does this onion routing do exactly?" he asked

"It's to do with how the packets of information are constructed. Normally, a packet will include the sender's address and the destination, a bit like a normal letter. What Tor does is to wrap the packet in successive layers of packets …. like one of those Russian dolls?"

He nodded and she continued, "When the user sends the packet, the top layer tells it to go to router A, the first stop on the circuit. When it arrives, router A takes off the first layer. The next layer tells router A to send the packet onward to router B. Router A doesn't know the ultimate destination, only that the packet came from the user and went to B. Router B peels off the next layer and sends it on to router C. The process continues until the packet reaches its destination. At each stop, the node only knows the available information: the last place the packet was, and the next place it will be. No node knows the complete path, and neither would anyone intercepting the packet being sent from a node."

"So it's a pretty secure system then?"

Haley scrunched up her nose and shrugged. "Well, it's useful for browsing anonymously, but it's not without problems. The NSA and FBI do their best to target it and though the network is quite secure from traffic analysis, the Tor browser, like any other, is vulnerable to attacks and exploits. In fact it's just a modified version of Firefox and by infecting an individual user's computer with malware, they can track that user's activity and even remotely access their device. Ever heard of the Silk Road?"

Rick nodded, "Yeah, it was used for selling drugs."

"Hmm, well that was shut down by the FBI in 2013, so, not invulnerable. Even if you only use the network for legal purposes, merely using Tor can make you an attractive target for the government and leaked NSA documents show that they particularly focus on "dumb users," people using Tor who probably aren't knowledgeable about Internet security. Through them, the NSA can gain footholds in the Tor network, and given access to enough nodes, they could observe packets traveling and shedding layers, from which point they could reconstruct the path it travelled."

"Ok, now you're scaring me."

She grinned, "Look, it's the use you make of it that really matters, it's become popular with journalists and activists in countries with Internet restrictions such as Iran, China, and North Korea who are known for censoring their citizens' access to the Web; Tor provides a way around this control. It's a safe avenue for whistle-blowers to leak information to journalists; just keep away from the gun runners, drug traffickers and child pornography, and you should be ok," the voice not sounding quite as confident as the words.

Just then the download completed and she turned back to the laptop adding, "Another thing to keep in mind is that it will be a lot slower than your normal browsing, precisely because of the onion routing."

He watched as she installed the browser then clicked on the 'Test TOR Network settings'. The next screen showed _Congratulations. This browser is configured to use TOR_ and Haley pointed the mouse at the next line, "This is what you need to look at …." and he read _Your IP address appears to be_ followed by a series of numbers. Haley opened up the Chrome browser, typed in _ip-lookup_ and showed him the results.

"See, this page is showing you your real IP address, your provider's and your country …. now if we go back to the Tor one … here you can see the numbers are totally different and you appear to be in Hungary. You can click up here to get a different one whenever you want, ok?"

"Ok, now how do I go about using this?"

"You're probably best off starting with _the hidden wikki_ …" typing it into the address bar and hitting enter. It took almost a minute for the page to load and he found himself looking at a list of links. "This is where you need to be careful if you want to stay away from the dark side" she grinned, scrolling slowly down the page. As she went she pointed out the safe options and which ones to stay away from if he didn't want to set off any red flags, "…unless of course you…"

He was quick to deny any interest in nefarious activities and used her earlier explanation as his queue. "In actual fact, I need a secure line of communication with a source in Myanmar. How do I do that?"

"Then I suggest Mail2Tor. It's a free anonymous email service that can send email to addresses out of the Tor network using relays, no important logs or emails are stored in any of those servers in case they're seized, the user data is stored encrypted in a hidden Tor node whose IP is not known."

Haley scrolled back up _the hidden wikki_ list until she found the email section and then downloaded and installed the application adding, "Just as a point of curiosity, if you try accessing this site from a normal browser it won't work."

"What do you mean?"

Quickly she highlighted the web address at the top of the page, copied it and pasted it into the Chrome browser. An error message appeared and she pointed to it. "Only the Tor browser understands the coding, which means you can't access any of this from a device that doesn't have it installed."

The installation completed, a fresh screen appeared and she indicated he needed to fill in a user name and password, turning away to allow him to do so privately. He typed in the information and clicked on _Submit query_. A fresh page loaded and Haley turned back to the laptop. Quickly she showed him how to log in and ran through the options with him including how to attach documents before closing it all down and having him run through everything. When she was happy he could handle the new software, she pushed back from the desk and he rose with her. Rick pressed some money into her hand which she blushingly accepted and then he showed her out.

On the way back to his office he checked in on the two redheads to make sure they were all right and then stopped in the doorway to look at the less than glamourous 'new' laptop sitting on his desk. Somehow it felt slightly malevolent and he had to brush the thought away as he turned it off. It was just a machine; no different to any other, it just happened to be a doorway into a world which was both new and unknown to him.

Picking up the burner phone, he sent a cryptic message with his new email address before turning the phone off and removing the card. Tomorrow he'd replace it with a fresh one from his small stack. He used a pair of scissors to cut the card into several small pieces and then placed them into an envelope. Tomorrow he'd drop the whole thing into the paper's furnace, unable to help the sardonic smile twitching his lips. And he'd been the one to call Yuri paranoid! With a shake of his head he left the office and headed over to the couch just in time to catch the end of the film.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Chapter 24 – Daylight _**

* * *

Kate's hand hesitated then fumbled around. Her seeking fingers had brushed against something that felt very much like sacking or canvas, though the cold and shaking made her doubt it. Pulling gently, afraid that any sudden move might bring about the collapse of the clutter of items in the corner, she began to ease it upwards. A creak of wood behind her made her stop and she waited impatiently for the next flash of lightning, aware that these were getting less and less frequent as the storm centre moved away.

When it came, the cover of the roof and the two remaining walls reduced the blinding glare and allowed her to get a better glimpse of their corner. Making the most of the impression etched into her eyeballs, she reached out, fumbled and then got her hands round a plank resting against the wall. Easing it out and down, careful not to hit anything else with it, she laid it across the floor by her feet. Two more planks followed the first as did a couple of rusty metal pipes which could have been part of some primitive plumbing or something completely different; it was difficult to tell by touch alone.

Her searching hand sent the bottle glimpsed earlier rolling across the floor and she made a grab for it. Kate was about to toss it out of the way when she stopped and handed it to Sana, telling her to place it in the blanket. Her fingers went back to scratching round the floor until they again found the sacking and she began to pull on it. Something toppled onto the floor on her right but the material came up in her hand. Holding it up before her, she got an impression that reminded her of the sacks used to decorate the walls in one of her favourite coffee shops back in the city. It was about the size of a towel and felt relatively dry compared with the soaking clothes they were wearing. She purposefully turned her mind away from thoughts of fleas and spiders, pushing herself up onto her knees and told Sana to strip off her wet clothes.

The young woman hesitated then climbed to her feet and began to strip, her wet clothes clinging to her shivering body and needing an occasional tug to remove them. Kate shook the sacking out and then began to rub her companion down, trying to work some heat back into the slim body and get the blood flowing again. Sana suffered though the ministrations uncomplainingly, turning when Kate instructed her to do so, but saying nothing. When she'd finished, the sacking was far from dry, but Kate didn't hesitate. Telling Sana to lay out her clothes on the planks they'd pulled from the corner, Kate stripped down to her underwear and used the sacking on herself. The material was rough and scratchy, her skin, softened by the lengthy exposure to the wet felt raw within a few minutes, but like Sana, she needed to get her circulation going. Whilst Kate was drying herself off as best she could, Sana had laid Kate's clothes out as well, the occasional flash of lightning helping her spot the dryer areas on the floor.

Even after rubbing them both down, the sacking felt dryer than their clothes. Kate ran her hands over the material until she found the stitching. She expected it to be much tougher, but the seam gave way surprisingly easily and she was able to tear it open. Kate settled down onto the floor in her underwear, patted the floor next to her and when the Sana joined her, she wrapped the thin cloth around them, hoping for at least some respite before they had to move again.

Suggesting Sana hand out the apples and one biscuit packet, Kate settled her back against the wooden sides of their shelter and momentarily closed her eyes. She wondered what had happened back in New York. Were they searching for her? Did they even have a clue as to where to search? How was her father doing? The last though making her hand move to check her wrist, the missing watch leaving an empty feeling in her stomach.

Sana's hand holding out an apple interrupted her train of thought and with a weary smile she thanked her companion and took the fruit. She hesitated, after this they would be down to just a few packets of biscuits …. they needed to find food tomorrow or they'd be in deep trouble.

Despite her best intentions to keep a lookout, whether from exhaustion or a false sense of security offered by their meagre shelter, Kate was shocked into wakefulness by the sound of birds. Pale daylight filtered through the gaps and crevices of the shack, a dull greyness which boded uncertainty for the coming day. She remained still, ears filtering out the gentle breathing of the girl asleep against her shoulder. There was a rustle in the grass just beyond the missing back wall and then a finch hopped up onto the stem of a bush.

Kate turned her head slowly, straining to catch further sounds. Her watch had been taken from her early on, there was no way of telling the exact time though she guessed it must be around five in the morning, the dawn light and intermittent querulous chirping of the birds now almost familiar to her after the weeks of captivity.

Easing herself away from the young girl, Kate pushed herself to her feet, shivering in the cool air and suddenly aware of her almost-nakedness. Quickly she bent down to grab her clothes. They felt cold and damp, perhaps no longer soaking wet; the old wooden planks had absorbed much of the water, but far from appealing. Unfortunately there was no other option. She struggled into her jeans, the damp material clinging to her legs and feeling uncomfortably cold as she finally managed to close the button at her waist. Her shirt and sweater quickly followed, disagreeably clinging to her, but she ignored it. Her trainers were a mess, mud-caked and still soaking wet. She tried squeezing and ringing them out but it made little difference other than to get her hands covered in mud.

Dressed once more, she carefully made her way towards the gap of the doorway, keeping low and showing as little of her head as possible. The scene before her was almost peaceful. The grey light showed her an expanse of field overgrown by wild flowers and tall grasses. Hills rose gently about a mile away, sugar maples, beech and yellow birch climbing up the gentle slopes.

Movement caught her eye and she turned her head sharply, allowing a sigh of relief as she realised it was a blackbird wiping its beak on a tree stump that had made her heart miss a beat.

Slowly she stood up, leaning further out to scan the area. From her vantage point she could make out the track they'd come down last night, puddles catching and reflecting the grey of the sky above. Her eyes followed the track northwards, back the way they'd come, hills rising on either side and getting higher the further back she looked.

She turned her head back towards the junction they'd literally tripped over last night. It was difficult to make out through the tall grass between it and her vantage point nor were there any signpost that might help, but she could see where the track curved away between the hills to the east. The ruts and width indicated it was fairly well used, more so than the one they'd made their way down in the dark. She stepped out a little onto the rickety stoop and her eyes followed the track in the opposite direction, trying to make a decision.

She had a feeling that the left or eastern fork led to the farmhouse they'd been held at and would have been the route the pickup came down to try and trap them on the hillside, therefore the right-hand fork presumably led away from them. But which way would lead to help …. past the farmhouse to the east, or in the opposite direction, to the west?

Kate also realised that she hadn't heard the returning pickup, which meant that either they were still somewhere up the track to the north or she'd been fast asleep and hadn't heard them drive past in the night. Whichever, they couldn't hang around here any longer, as the sky lightened even further, their temporary shelter would stand out even more. Turning back inside, she paused as she saw Sana watching her from the far corner, large green eyes showing a hint of fear. Kate smiled at her, moving back towards the corner and considering their options. Telling Sana to get dressed and ignoring the girl's shudder as she slipped on her still-damp clothes, she took a look around their shelter.

The rusty pipes she'd shifted in the dark were too long and clumsy for them to take with them. A search through the rubble in the corner presented nothing usable; a broken jug, some coils of rusty barbed wire, a broken window-frame, some rusty nails and bits and pieces which could have been anything …. nothing of practical value to them.

She picked up their improvised towel to add it to the blankets when something caught her eye. Holding it up to the light filtering in through the missing walls, she found she could just about make out some faded printing on the sacking. Above a washed-out picture of a bull or cow, she could just make out –UL- BR—D the other letters too faded to make out. However, at what would have been the bottom of the sack before she ripped it open the previous night, she could make out FARMERS FEED CO and below that, despite the faded lettering, she read the all too familiar BROOKLYN, N.Y.

She almost let out a sigh of relief. How old the sack was and whether or not the Farmers feed Co was still in business didn't matter, what did matter was the fact that they must still be within the State of New York or at least in one of the tri-states!

With a sense of relief which almost made her lightheaded, she rolled the sacking up and placed it on the blanket, picked out a couple of biscuit packets which she handed to Sana and said "We need to leave now, you carry the blankets out through the back wall there and I'll try to cover up any signs of our stay ok?"

Sana nodded, gathered up their meagre belongings and carefully made her way over to the gap in the back wall. Kate restacked the pipes and planks in the corner, stepped down through a hole in the floor and dug around the loose earth with her hands. Despite the heavy rain, the earth below the remains of the floor was still relatively dry, so she pulled up a handful and scattered it over the floor where they'd rested up. She used a bunch of dried brushwood to sweep the scatterings haphazardly. It wasn't dust and a close look would show the signs of their stay, but a cursory look might miss it.

Stepping out through the back of the shack, Kate looked up at the sky. It had to be less than twenty minutes since she'd woken up. The sky was already that much lighter though grey clouds still covered most of it. They were no longer the dark, angry ones of yesterday and she wouldn't be surprised if the sun broke through later on. Taking one of the biscuit packets that Sana was holding, she smiled at the young woman, indicated the trees a short distance away and said, "Right, lets head for those and see if we can pick up the track on the other side."

Her decision to move in the opposite direction to the farmhouse was instinctive. They needed to put distance between them and as young saplings gave onto more mature trees, she kept her ears pricked for the sound of vehicles on the tracks behind. As soon as they were in thicker cover, she turned south-west, hoping to eventually intercept the track which had run past the shack towards the west.

It was almost an hour later when the thinning trees warned her that they might be approaching the edge of the forest. She paused, hand against the trunk of a venerable beech and strained her ears. Only the rustle of leaves and scattered bird calls broke the silence. Nodding to Sana she began to move forward until the view opened up before them. Standing close to the shattered remains of a lightening-struck oak, Kate peered out at scene.

A small field of wild flowers and grasses sloped gently down from the tree line to the dirt track about one hundred meters away. On the other side, behind a few barbed wire strands strung along rustic posts, ploughed fields stretched backwards towards the thin treeline on the opposite ridge. Allowing her eyes to follow the track westwards, she thought she could make out a building in the distance and her heart picked up a rate.

Kate was about to point it out to Sana when movement caught her eye. Putting a hand on the girl's arm in warning, she nodded towards the track in the distance. It was several moments before a vehicle rose up over the top of a hill and then began to travel down the gently sloping track towards them. Slowly they both sank down, keeping close to the darkened trunk. As it got closer, they were able to identify it as the coffee-coloured van from the farmhouse, and they slowly lowered themselves to the ground, edging around the tree trunk to keep it between themselves and the approaching van.

The sound of the engine got louder as it approached; the meshing of gears audible as the driver changed down when the van skated sideways on the muddy track. They watched it pass slowly along the track below them, could make out Denis sitting in the passenger seat, binoculars bouncing awkwardly as he tried to scan the trees to their left, could even hear the mud being spattered against the wheel arches, then it was past them and rounding the outcrop of forest they had made their way through. Kate listened to the steadily diminishing sound, waited for any sudden change. Quiet descended, she became aware once again of the chirping birds and the loud, raucous call of a blue jay somewhere behind them.

Eventually they rose to their feet and Kate pointed to the distant building. "We'll go down into the middle of the field and then move parallel to the road, if we hear any engines we just hit the ground, ok? The grasses should hide us as long as we keep still. See those trees that come down almost to the road over there?" checking to make sure Sana was following her pointing finger, "We should be able to get a good view of the building from there and see if it's safe, ok honey?"

"You think we'll make it Katya?" the voice was soft, the Ukrainian accent gently lilting the words. Kate pulled her into a hug, their damp clothes chill against their skin though the trek through the trees and the still air had allowed them to ignore the discomfort. Hunger was more prevalent, their stomachs intermittently gurgling in protest. Water had helped a little, but they were down to half a bottle and the three remaining biscuit packs were hardly enough to feed a bird.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Chapter 25 – Deception _**

* * *

They reached the treeline with no further incidence and made their way amongst the scattering of trees until they found a vantage point from which they could look down over the scene below and still remain within relative cover.

They were closer to the track than before, little more than a stone's throw away. To the left, the ploughed fields curved away behind rickety looking post made from tree trunks, a few pieces of torn plastic caught on the wire barbs flapping desultorily in the occasional gust of wind. The track here widened out to form a muddy forecourt to the building beyond.

It was one of those typical out-of-the-way general stores, a couple of beaten-up 'Local' gas pumps standing on a strip of concrete with weeds cracking up the edges, an ice box that looked like a battlefield survivor next to them. The building itself was a low structure covered in wooden shingles rising to a steep roof clad in rusty corrugated sheeting. A faded flag hung from its pole above the front door next to a Coca-Cola sign which bore 'The Country Store' in large, black, uneven lettering.

To the left of the door, a couple of tired-looking vending machines nestled under the overhang, one either side of the ubiquitous wooden bench and a pile of chopped wood and some unidentifiable sacks leant against the wall to the right of the door. Behind the building, an expanse of muddy ground held a beat-up tractor, its red paint long faded to rusty pink, one large, deflated rear tyre making it stand askew. Beyond the tractor were a number of equally neglected farming implements and an old wooden cable drum sat half-sunk into the mud. The ground dipped downwards slightly after that and she could make out the top half of a barn or shed of some type.

Swivelling her eyes back to the building, she could just make out the rear end of an off-white pickup, parked up close to the side of the building, but what really caught Kate's attention was the phone line looping across the parking area to the side of the building. With luck, she could get everything they needed right there. Turning to Sana she said "Sana honey, you stay here ok? Stay under cover of the trees and keep an eye out for any of them. If you see anyone approaching, come and get me, otherwise wait for me to come out ok?"

"I prefer to go with you Katya, what if you need help?"

"You're more help out here as a lookout, whoever is in there is probably some old man who'll be happy to help us out, trust me."

Sana looked at her doubtfully and then shrugged in acceptance. Kate gave her a hug, told her to keep a sharp lookout and moved along the treeline until she was well away from Sana. If anyone did see her come out of the trees, she didn't want them to be able to pinpoint the girl's whereabouts.

Kate crossed the track, her trainers slipping and sliding in the cloying mud and making her feet feel even heavier than they already did. Reaching the concrete strip by the gas pumps she wiped her feet against the edge, eyes surreptitiously scanning the area and trying to see through the less than clean windows on either side of the front door. No-one made an appearance; no one came rushing out of the store, guns pointing in her direction. She licked suddenly dry lips, took a deep breath and moved towards the building, her foot dropping quietly on the wooden step up onto the stoop.

Her hand reached for the knob and she turned to look behind her, eyes searching for any giveaway signs of Sana's position. Satisfied, she pushed through the doorway to the accompanying tinkle of a bell. She paused, eyes scanning the room, taking in the racks and shelves running back through the store with everything from clothes and fishing tackle to cans of food and boxed car parts.

A counter ran down one side of the room, jars of sweets, 'local' souvenirs and pots of preserves sat atop it, with guns, crossbows and hunting paraphernalia adorning the wall behind. A middle-aged man emerged through a glass-topped door set a little off-centre and leant on the counter, looking at her curiously, a John Deere cap propped on his head and wireframe spectacles reflecting the overhead light. Kate gave him her best smile as she moved towards the counter and watched as he straightened up. "Hi, I was hoping you could help me …" she said reaching out a hand to shake his, hiding a smile as he wiped his hand on the seat of his pant before reaching out to take hers.

"Surely ma'am, what can I do you for?"

"My car broke down in the storm yesterday about three miles down the road?" waving her arm vaguely westwards, "My phone's dead and I need to make a call, is it alright if I use the payphone over there?"

"Yeah, sure, bad storm to get caught in … you on your own ma'am? I mean, we don't normally see you city ladies out here on your own!"

"I guess, was on the way to visit some friends and must have taken a wrong turning," she threw over her shoulder as she headed for the payphone on the wall near the back. It was a long time since she'd used one of these, and she paused to read the printed instructions stuck to the front of the phone. She'd need to get the call reverse-charged to the precinct, let them know that she was ok … shit she ought to get her location from the owner befo … something, some instinct, made her turn around slowly.

The store owner stood several feet away, an almost apologetic look on his face though the bores of the twin barrels pointing her way made it redundant. "What …!"

"Sorry ma'am, but I was warned you might come here …. the broken down car, good story, but …."

"Look, I'm a police officer, detective Kate Beckett, let me call my precinct and they can conf…" she broke off as he shrugged indifferently.

"Long ways from your territory ma'am, now if you don't mind moving away from that there phone and just sit tight while I get to call someone who's real keen on finding you."

For all his apparent mild manner, Kate had no doubt that she was in trouble. The man handled the shotgun like it was an extension of his hand, and whatever her captors had told him or offered him outweighed the fact that she was a cop. Kate gritted her teeth in frustration as he pulled a small flip phone from his pocket with his free hand and she began measuring distances, edging closer to him even as she stepped away from the phone. The overhead light glinted on his glasses and his lips twitched in amusement even as he shook his head slightly, taking a step back and maintaining the distance between them. She almost growled in frustration and took a further step back as he jerked the gun slightly.

If she could edge round till she was close to one of the shelf units she might be able to duck behind it …. shotguns were lethal, especially at this range, but the one advantage she had was that at most he'd have two shots …. not that that was an encouraging thought, the spread could easily catch her even if she were moving and that was assuming he was loaded with buckshot and not slugs … those could rip through the shelving and all its contents as if it weren't there.

Something caught her attention and then she quickly returned her focus to the store owner with the shotgun. She kept her face expressionless, offered a slight shrug and took another step back, purposefully catching her elbow on some boxes of firelighters and knocking them onto the floor. She glanced down as the packets skittered across the boards then quickly back up again. Like her, his eyes had followed the falling boxes, then some hunter's instinct made him begin to turn.

It was too late; the swinging bottle caught him just behind the ear, the sound a solid _thunk!_ as it connected. Unlike films, the bottle didn't shatter, its thick glass far sturdier than the skull it had struck. The owner crumpled to the floor, shotgun and phone hitting the boards seconds apart. Kate froze, staring at the gun as it bounced a couple of times, then let out a pent up breath as it failed to go off.

Her eyes rose from the shotgun on the floor to the slim young woman standing with the bottle still clutched in her hand, the look of determination changing slowly to consternation as she looked down at the collapsed store owner, cap dislodged and a thin trickle of blood emanating from his ear.

Kate quickly bent down, retrieved the shotgun and cracked it open, checking that in fact both barrels _were_ loaded, turning to the girl, she gently removed the bottle they'd found in the shack from her hand and turned her away, pointing her towards a couple of chairs next to a rack of boots and shoes. With the girl sat down, Kate quickly stepped up to one of the front windows and checked that they were still alone. Satisfied she returned to the crumpled figure of the store owner, placed the shotgun on the floor out of his reach and checked his pulse and breathing. She relaxed slightly; at most he'd probably end up with concussion. She straightened him out and rolled him onto his side. She didn't want to be held responsible for his death despite his actions.

She glanced at Sana to make sure she was ok, then went back to the phone on the wall. She unhooked the handset, the techs would be able to trace the call and tell her where she was. Kate frowned, tapped the cradle several times … still there was no dial tone. She hung up and tried again; nothing. Either the line was down because of the storm last night or ….

She moved back to the window, looked outside. All quiet. Turning she spotted the little brass bell attached to the front door.

"Sana, how did you get in?" she asked, not remembering hearing the bell tinkle.

"I found a door round by the truck" she said, pointing her chin towards the counter running down the opposite side. Kate nodded, then went back to the store owner and his dropped phone. She swore under her breath. When it hit the floor, the rear cover had come loose and the battery was dislodged. She put it back together, but as suspected it required a pin. She had no doubt she could discover it eventually, but right now they didn't have time.

She riffled his pockets looking for keys and any other items of interest. His driving licence said he was Herbert F. Lister of Ramapo, Rockland County, NY. Well, she assumed that should tell her where she was, though to be honest, she didn't have a clue where Ramapo was, though Rockland she seemed to remember was somewhere to the west of the Hudson River.

Retrieving the shotgun she stood up, glanced from the window to the counter and said, "Sana honey, could you go keep a watch by the window?" The young woman nodded and Kate stepped round behind the counter. She found a bunch of keys in an ashtray next to the cash register and headed quickly to the door, trying several before she found the one that locked it and then flipped the OPEN sigh so that it showed CLOSED.

Back at the counter she grabbed a couple of bags and went along the food shelves, grabbing anything she thought they could use. Then she hit the clothes section, picked out a couple of jeans, thick lumberjack shirts, thick socks and a couple of quilted jackets. She called over to Sana, tossed her selection over the rack and told her to get changed into the dry clothes. She led by example, delighting in the sense of dry warmth the new clothes gave her.

Kate moved to the shoe section, looked at the available footwear and hesitated. The hiking boots all looked too big, but they were the best option. Selecting the two smallest sizes she could find, she padded back to where Sana was buttoning up her shirt. Kate grabbed some more socks off the rack, rolled one up and stuffed it into the toes of one of the boots. She repeated the process with the other and then handed them to Sana.

She had just completed tying her laces up when the sound of a vehicle pulling up into the forecourt caught her attention. "Sana! Keep down, don't' move!" she whispered urgently, then in a crouch she moved quickly behind the counter and slipped through the door behind. She was in a small office, a desk covered in scattered papers pushed up against one wall, the opposite holding a pipe stove which was throwing out a wonderful heat and a chintz-covered easy chair with an opened book resting on one of the arms. The outer wall held a small window and the door through which Sana had entered the store. Quickly she fumbled the keys, looking for one which might fit the lock. From the front she could hear the door being rattled and voices calling out for "Herbie!"

The fourth key slid into the lock and she turned it even as the voices moved away from the front and rounded the corner of the building. She crouched against the door, keeping her back to it and a wary eye on the patch of light which was the window to her left.

"…. gone for a shit or something?" the language was Ukrainian, the voice vaguely familiar, possibly the driver of the escalade. He'd kept away from the container, only ever approaching when Roman came to visit.

"His truck's still here, he can't have gone far …" the woman's angry voice was interrupted by the door handle dipping and the rattle of the door against the frame, "…. go see if he's in the barn."

A squelch of feet could be heard moving away through the mud and a shadow darkened the bottom-half of the window, paused a moment and then eased away. Kate rose stealthily to her feet, eyes on the window. She was just in time to see the backs of the woman, Sergiy and Rostik as they headed back towards the front.


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter 26 – Speculation _**

* * *

Lanie's phone call had suggested the same diner on 2nd Avenue as before, he'd agreed and they'd arranged a meeting time.

The weather was typical at that time of year in New York, a cold wind blowing in off the river carrying damp and despondency with it. March was still several weeks away with its promise of better weather to come and January's snow had long since melted away along with the yuletide jolliness. The dismal February weather called for overcoats and scarves, gloves and hats. He hated it. Hated the dullness of flowerless parks, hated how it closed people in on themselves, hated the sweltering heat of public buildings and the icy fingers that settled onto cheeks and nose outside.

His musings came to a stop as the cab pulled up at the address. He handed over the money, accepted his change and climbed out onto the sidewalk, almost knocked aside by the impatient suit who dove into the back of the cab.

He paused a moment looking along the street. The daylight had a harsh glare to it, the type that made you screw up your eyes involuntarily and reach for the sunglasses despite the absence of sun. He rolled his shoulders and headed for the glass door ahead. The place hadn't improved any since his last visit, anonymous remained the best description he could come up with. He spotted them in a corner as he shrugged out of his coat, slipped it over his arm and began to unwind the scarf as he threaded his way towards them.

The ME still looked tired, though she threw him a wan smile. The detective sat watching him, almost Buddha-like with his impassive face and close-cropped hair, though he played civil and stood as Rick reached them, a reluctant hand held out to him. Rick shook it, remembered the feel of hardness at their first meeting, didn't revise his opinion this time either, a faint smile lightening his features as he took the indicated seat.

"Lanie, Detective .." he acknowledged them.

"Mister Castle" the Latino nodded back.

"Call me Rick, sounds less like a court-martial"

"You two behave, right now. This isn't about you it's about Kate!" The angrily issued command, though barely audible to anyone beyond their table made them both colour in embarrassment, then, catching each other's eye, they couldn't help letting the amusement show.

"Sorry" they muttered in unison and threw a relieved look at each other as Lanie let out a gusty breath and settled back in her chair. Rick's lip twitched and Esposito pulled on his ear. He was about to say something when they were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. They made small talk; about the weather, the Knicks, the mayor's race … until their orders arrived.

Esposito glanced over Rick's shoulder, made sure they were once again alone and said, "Lanie's told me about your theory on the Ukrainian connection." There was neither dismissal nor scorn in the tone of voice, but Rick could tell he would need more if he were to be convinced. The fresh information from Yuri was burning a hole in his breast pocket where he'd carefully folded it away, but this was not yet the right moment to divulge it. He would need to see how the detective thought and acted before revealing it. His head was saying go see Frank about it, the Commissioner would know who to put onto the case .… his instinct was telling him to play this close.

Rick stirred his coffee, watched the swirling liquid catch the overhead light. He glanced at the cop across the table who was watching him, brown eyes giving nothing away. "Are you a by-the-book-cop, detective?" and continued before the other man could answer, "I would guess only if you have to be," holding up his hand to stay the other man's angry retort, "I would think that Special Forces teaches you to be flexible, to seize the opportunity when offered, to work outside the lines drawn by others if that means gaining an advantage and limiting friendly casualties, am I right?"

Esposito narrowed his eyes and stared back at him, Rick could almost see the wheels turning, saw the glance thrown at the ME and caught the slight nod of encouragement from the corner of his eye. "Maybe, depends on the situation … and on who the friends are."

Rick grinned in acknowledgement; he was definitely not on the friends list yet, "Detective Beckett?"

"Definitely," … no hesitation there. Rick recalled his first assessment of Rob Henshaw, the laconic operator from Paladin Security who had become a good friend over the years and mentally compared him to the detective across the table, they were almost total opposites in character and looks, but he had a feeling they would work well together, once past the public exterior, he thought they would in fact have a lot in common.

"What do you know about the current Ukrainian situation?" he asked.

The detective shrugged, "Not much, ain't exactly top of my to-do list"

Rick nodded, "Let me give you an abbreviated version of their history, ok? It makes the current mess they're getting into more understandable." The cop nodded, settled his elbows on the table and leant forward slightly.

"The Ukraine's been in the middle of conflicts for most of its history, different parts of the country have been under the rule of Khazars, Mongols, the Ottoman empire, Lithuania, Poland, Austria …" he shrugged, "… in the mid sixteen hundreds, the Cossacks rebelled against the Poles and Lithuanians and signed a protection treaty with the Russians, but over the next decades, the 'protection' gradually changed to Tsarist rule and the Cossacks found themselves fighting the Russians." He took a sip of coffee and glanced out through the windows at the scene outside. Turning back to the others, he continued.

"Most of Ukraine fell to the Russian Empire under the reign of Catherine the Great and after that, the Russians clamped down on anything smelling of independence or nationalism. After the success of the Russian revolution, different factions tried to create an independent Ukrainian, but spent most of the time fighting each other, then in 1941, the Nazis and their allies invaded the Soviet Union. Many Ukrainians initially regarded the Germans as liberators from Soviet rule, others formed partisan movements to fight them and some elements of the Ukrainian nationalist underground formed a Ukrainian Insurgent Army that fought both the Soviets and the Nazis."

"After the war, Stalin flooded the country with Russians, especially the Crimea region; he did the same with most of the other satellite countries, that way he not only guaranteed Russian control in positions of power, he also made sure they were supported by a large part of the population." He paused for another sip and glanced over the rim of the cup at the detective who was listening attentively.

"After the collapse of the Soviet Union in ninety-one, Ukraine became an independent state, with over ninety percent of its people voting for independence and with majorities in every region, including around fifty-six percent in Crimea … keep that bit in mind," he added with a smile.

"In the two-o-four elections, Yanukovych, one of the candidates, wanted closer ties with Russia and the main opposition candidate, Yushchenko, with the more or less explicit support of the US, wanted Ukraine to look to the west and eventually join the EU. Yanukovych officially won by a narrow margin, but the opposition accused him of vote-rigging and intimidation, especially in eastern Ukraine. The situation erupted into a political crisis, the opposition started massive street protests in Kiev and other cities, and the Supreme Court of Ukraine ordered the election results null and void. Yushchenko won the second round. After that relations between Russia and Ukraine became even more strained as Yushchenko went all out on improved relations with Europe and less with Russia."

"Currently you've got Yushchenko and Yulia Tymoshenko, who were allies during the Orange Revolution becoming bitter enemies and it looks like Yanukovych could be making a comeback. There are also rumours of Yushchenko's rapidly declining health and suggestions of poisoning."

Rick stopped, pushing his empty cup aside and leaning back to observe the other two. Esposito was digesting the information, a slight frown on his face. "Ok, I get the history lesson, I get the place is in a mess right now, but what has that got to do with Beckett?"

"Leave her out of the equation for the moment; let's look at it purely from a geo-political point of view." The detective looked at him, gave a slight shrug of his shoulder and a nodded in acceptance. "What's your opinion on Putin?"

Unhesitatingly, the detective answered "Dangerous."

Rick nodded, "If you don't object, I'll give you a brief rundown on him as well, ok?"

The detective nodded and Rick continued, "Earlier today I had a word with our international political correspondent. He filled me in a little on our friend Putin, some of its been printed before, some of it is just rumour and can't be printed without more substantial proof, but he assures me there are strong indications the information is based on fact." He paused, glanced out the window to marshal his thoughts and then turned back to his audience.

"Putin spent over 15 years in the KGB as a mid-level agent. He was stationed in East Germany, and rose to the rank of lieutenant colonel. The exact nature of what he did in the KGB isn't completely clear but Tim believes he was charged with stealing NATO secrets and Western technology. It's also known that he was trying to recruit people with wireless communication skills."

"Putin joined the St Petersburg city's council in ninety-one and became deputy head of the Executive Office of the President by ninety-seven, before being promoted to first deputy head of the Presidential Administration. In ninety-nine he was appointed Prime Minister by then-president Boris Yeltsin, who later made Putin acting president … that's a pretty impressive climb to power!"

"In the two-thousand presidential elections, Putin won fifty-three percent of the vote and in oh-four he did even better; seventy-one percent. Part of that popularity was down to his tough handling of the Chechen situation. In September ninety-nine, two apartment buildings in Moscow were bombed on separate days resulting in the death of 224 people. Though the Russian government failed to find the perpetrators, Chechen rebels were blamed. But rumours suggest, more strongly than ever, that Putin, or at least a faction within the Russian government was involved in the attack on their own citizens."

He watched the surprise register on the detective's face at his disclosure and then continued. "A former KGB agent named Alexander Litvinenko who had defected to London, wrote an article maintaining that the President was to blame for the attacks in ninety-nine …. Litvinenko was murdered, poisoned with a radioactive substance called polonium …" he paused, waiting for the detective to make the connection. Seeing the widening of the eyes, he continued, "… just before his death in oh-six, he signed a document blaming Putin for the crime."

"To add just a few more strokes to the Putin picture, he's already attempted to deprive Europe of natural gas after falling out with the Ukraine, in two thousand and eight he claimed that the Georgian crisis was an American conspiracy aimed at disrupting the Russian elections. Back in two thousand and seven there were talks of him trying to stand once more for election to the presidency, he was banned from standing for a third term and so he proposed Dmitry Medvedev be the president … within days Putin was appointed Prime Minister by Medvedev, essentially still retaining power and defying the Russian constitution via a loophole … what I'm trying to say, is that for all intents and purposes, he is one ruthless, wily, son of a bitch!"

Esposito nodded, adding, "Even without the picture you've just painted I'd have agreed with you, but I still don't see where this is leading?"

Rick sat back, looked over his shoulder and waved an arm at the waitress. Turning back to his table companions he raised inquiring eyebrows and on getting nods, ordered another round of coffees. They waited until they'd been served, each quietly pondering the information Castle had laid out.

When the waitress moved away, Rick leant forwards slowly stirring his drink and then quietly asked, "What would happen … in geo-political terms … if a Ukrainian terrorist cell carried out an attempt on American soil, say in New York … perhaps employing a dirty bomb of some type?"

Both the detective and the ME froze; one with her cup halfway to her lips the other with the spoon stilled within the swirling milky coffee. Silence reigned for several heartbeats before the detective's eyes quickly scanned the room behind Castle and then returned to fix him with a hard stare.

"Go on," the words were quiet, carefully spaced out, but the clenched fist on the table told another story.

"I would think that any US support for Ukrainian independence would be quickly reassessed. Europe, afraid of having something similar happen within their territories would probably put the brakes on the talks or even cancel them completely. Moscow no doubt would use the situation as proof of Ukrainian treachery and the need to clamp down on terrorism within the country …. the doors would be opened to taking a hard stance where Ukraine is concerned.

There was a silence as the other two considered the hypothesis. Eventually the detective looked up and asked, "And how does any of that tie into our specific case?"

Rick didn't miss the 'our case'.

"Ok, keep in mind I'm working with a little information and a lot of speculation … and I could be way off the mark." Seeing them nod in understanding he continued, "Let's assume, hypothetically, that a pro-Russian Ukrainian gets involved in some crazy plan to attack the US. Let's also assume that a family member of said nut case gets wind of it and that that family member has a friend in the NYPD …" aware that now he had their rapt attention he paused, letting them fill in the blanks for themselves.


	27. Chapter 27

**_Chapter 27 – Truce _**

* * *

The silence stretched out for several minutes and Rick went over his theory in his head once again. He could of course be completely wrong, but the way he'd fitted the puzzle pieces together felt right in the way one of his stories felt right when it all hung together, on the other ….

"How long does it take to make a dirty bomb?" The detective was already onto one of the weaker parts of his theory, "I mean, she's been gone over four weeks now, closer to five, why would they need her? She'd be a risk, there wouldn't be any need to keep her alive that I can see." The voice was soft, worried even as he tried to find a reason for her to still be alive.

"I doubt they would just arrive with all the equipment in their pockets or suitcases, they'd need to find a suitable place to work from, buy or hire whatever tools and devices they'd need, the same with vehicles, steal or pick up the ingredients for the bomb, scout out the target … deal with the spanner in the works in the shape of an NYPD detective … that's assuming we're right in that respect," he was careful to use the _we're_ in there, create a sense of pluralism and teamwork, "It must take time to do all that?" He shied away from the idea of a pre-built bomb being shipped in by sea. "As to why they'd keep her alive? Maybe to find out what the police suspect, or as a hostage in case things go south …. or maybe there's a personal angle to it," his eyes flickering to Lanie's and seeing her expression freeze as she realised what he meant.

"Ok, if you're right," said the detective ignoring or oblivious to the exchange of glances between the writer and the ME, "we need to move this conversation somewhere less public. I also need to talk to the Captain, he needs to be filled in on this."

"You think that's wise? If this leaks out or reaches the wrong ears …"

"Yes, and even if I didn't, I'd still have to do it. Eventually, we're going to have to call in all sorts of help for this; Customs, Immigration, Homeland and probably the FBI, not to mention the collaboration of other police forces. No way we'd get any of that without the Captain's help."

"I could have a word with the Commissioner …?"

The detective shook his head, "Let's keep this as tight as possible until we know if we have something to go on or not. The Captain can help us there; the Commissioner's got politics to deal with."

Rick leant back, quietly satisfied. He was pleased the detective was on board, he was also glad he wanted to keep things tight for the moment … that was his own feelings exactly and he'd been worried when the detective had started listing all the law enforcement agencies, at least for the moment they would be left out of it … and he wasn't about to tell the detective his other motive for keeping this as quiet as possible!

Esposito called for the bill and they settled up and then stepped out onto the street. The other two turned away from Rick and talked in low voices for a moment before they shared a brief hug and the ME waved to Rick as she turned and made her way up the street towards the NYU buildings on the next block.

Esposito jerked his head in Rick's direction and made his way round the corner at the next intersection. He stepped round the hood of a Crown Vic, waving Rick towards the passenger door. As he settled into the seat, Rick wrinkled his nose, the car smelt a bit like his old Pontiac; an undefinable mix of old socks, plastic and gas fumes. The seat was even less comfortable, the padding long since succumbing to the innumerable cop buts that had perched on and in it.

The fifteen minute drive was done in silence, each man busy with his own thoughts. Rick began to focus outwards when they reached the precinct, the detective finding a gap and sliding the Crown Vic smoothly into it. They climbed out, crossed the street and headed up the steps to the doors, pushing through and into the familiar lobby. Rick followed the detective across to the desk and stood unobtrusively observing everything as Esposito requested a visitor tag from the desk sergeant, not Donahue this time, signed him in and then led the way over to the lift.

The Crown Vic wasn't the only thing to have seen better days, the lift still gave a slight shudder as it reached the fourth floor and the cacophony of multiple conversations, the smell of damp and stale sweat still met him as they stepped out of the lift.

The detective directed him to the same chair as he'd used last time and Irish looked up in surprise as he realised who their visitor was. Esposito muttered something about the captain and after a brief knock, disappeared through a glass-fronted door to one side of the bullpen.

Rick turned back and found Irish staring at him in open curiosity, a pencil held mid-air as he tried to evaluate the situation. Rick didn't help him out; he just gave a brief nod and slowly turned his head to take in the rest of the room. He could feel the blue eyes drilling into the side of his head and felt his lips twitch involuntarily.

It was almost five minutes before Esposito reappeared, jerked his head at Irish and asked Rick to follow them. A tall, Afro-American stepped out of the Captain's office as Rick stood up, glanced their way and then led them through into another office with the blinds down across the windows giving onto the bullpen. The room was light, pale walls with wooden-fronted cabinets running round two of the walls. A round table sat in the centre with about a dozen chairs pushed up against it.

"Mister Castle, this is Captain Montgomery," said the detective as he indicated the tall man in the grey suit as Irish closed the door behind them.

The captain reached out a hand, "Pleased to meet you Mister Castle, Detective Esposito has explained things briefly to me, but I think would be best if you go over it all from the beginning." The voice was mild, pleasant, the eyes keen as they observed him doubtfully.

The four of them pulled out chairs and sat down, Rick hiding a smile as he noted the three cops sitting next to each other with him across the table from them.

"How far back do you want me to go?"

"From the moment you found Detective Beckett's badge if you don't mind," the words polite, the tone not allowing for much argument. Rick shrugged, marshalled his thoughts and began to recount his finding of the detective's shield and his consequent investigation on finding that she was still missing at the charity ball. He limited his explanations to the basic facts, obviating everything he felt they didn't need to know.

"The Commissioner did call me about a week ago to advise me that you might have some information," the voice neutral about the fact that Frank Reagan was on his contacts list. "This contact in the Ukraine, how did you say you met him?"

"I didn't," responded Rick. The Captain's face remained impassively mild and after a brief hesitation, Rick added, "I was given his name by a friend in England."

There was a moment's silence, then Montgomery, realising that was as much as he was going to get, nodded in acceptance. "How reliable is the information?"

"I don't know. Without a second source it's difficult to tell, but I don't see any reason for a fictional report with the information I received, it would be much easier to just send a report describing a boring existence and unexceptional lifestyle."

"And the details of that report?"

Rick hesitated, then pulled out the folded sheets of paper from his breast pocket. He smoothed them out on the table before spinning them and sending them sliding across the polished wood.

"You can ignore the first two, the parents are of little interest; he was a schoolteacher and she worked as a secretary. Neither of them appears to have any criminal records nor were they active in any political way; just a normal, everyday Ukrainian couple," he said as the Captain flicked over the sheets and glanced quickly at the contents. "The third report is on Yanina Tyahnybok, the young woman found killed in the hotel room that Detective Beckett was investigating shortly before her disappearance. The information isn't much but it gives a clue as to why she might have flown over here."

The Captain glanced down at the sheet of paper, read the report and then passed it over to Detective Esposito. Rick continued, "Report number four is on Oksana Lasyk, again she seems a pretty normal young woman for her age, nothing to show that she might be involved in anything shady. It's the final one, the one on Roman Lasyk that makes for an interesting read."

Detective Ryan finished reading the report on the hotel victim and waited patiently for Esposito to finish with the one on Oksana. Rick glanced at his watch and noted the time. He was glad he'd arranged with his mother to pick up Alexis, this could well turn in to a long session.

Montgomery slid the report on Roman Lasyk across to Detective Esposito and sat back, a frown on his face as he contemplated the writer across the table from him. There was silence in the room apart from the shuffling papers as the others read the reports and Rick listened to the muted sounds from the bullpen outside. Eventually Detective Ryan finished reading the last page and dropped it on the table. All four glanced at each other and then the Captain leant forward. "Javi, that's Detective Esposito, tells me you're both of a mind to keep this under wraps until you can confirm or deny any of it …" the words posed as a question. Rick nodded cautiously, not sure how to take this Captain.

"Under normal conditions, I would not allow a civilian, however well connected, to interfere, much less form part of an investigation, especially something as potentially dangerous as this. However …" he continued, ignoring Rick's hand raised in protestation, "…. seeing as you appear to be our main source of information and also appear to have been the only one potentially able to make some sort of sense out of Detective Beckett's disappearance, I am going to allow you access to this case."

"But, Mister Castle," standing as he said so, "I will not tolerate any information on this case appearing in the news media …. until, hopefully, such a time as it is brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Do I make myself clear?"

Rick stood up, shook the Captain's hand and nodded, "Perfectly clear Captain Montgomery, and believe you me, I have no desire to have any of this come out before she's been found either."

Montgomery nodded. "Our legal department will draw up the terms and you'll be issued with a consultant's pass. While in the precinct or under police supervision, you will take orders from Detectives Esposito and Ryan at all times … I don't want a further civilian casualty added to this mess!" he added looking pointedly at the two detectives.

With that, he nodded to the three of them and left the room. Ryan and Esposito stared at the closed door for several moments and then seemed to realise Castle was still with them. There was a fleeting, hard-edged smile from the Latino and then he was pushing back his chair. "Ok, we'll be using this room throughout, make sure the door's kept closed at all times, we don't want rumours of dirty bombs spreading beyond these walls. Kevin, get a couple of boards in here will you, we need to start working out our next steps."

Ryan left the room and Esposito pulled open a drawer in one of the cabinets. He rifled through a number of plastic door signs until he found the one he wanted. Pulling the office door open he slid the sign saying _Conference Room 2_ out of the holder and replaced it with the one he'd taken from the drawer. As he slid it into place, Rick was able to read _Operations_.

"What does that mean exactly?" he asked as the detective closed the door and went to place the removed sign in the drawer.

Esposito glanced from Rick to the door he was pointing at and shrugged. "Just tells the rest of the guys that they're not to enter without authorisation."

Rick nodded and then turned as Ryan wheeled in a board. He moved to help and got a nod of appreciation from Irish before the detective left again. Esposito gave him a hand to position the board against the windows to the inner bullpen and he was wiping the board clean when Ryan appeared with a second one. Rick closed the door and helped position the second board next to the first one.

He was curious to see the procedure and rested his ass on the table as Ryan grabbed a black marker and drew the timeline. He drew short lines which split the long horizontal one into segments. About a third of the way along, he wrote in _19__th__ Jan_ just above the short line and then used a red marker to draw a line downwards and wrote _Beckett disappears_ vertically up the board.

Working back a little he added another date above a notch; _14__th__ Jan_ and alongside another vertical, red line he wrote _Yanina Tyahnybok killed in hotel room_. Stepping back he looked at the information and then turned to face Esposito who was staring at the bare boards. "Your call Javi, where do you want to start?"

Esposito leant against the counter and frowned at the board. "Ok, first of all let's start with Immigration; see if any of the persons of interest came through airports, shipping terminals or borders. If you get a hit and they're down as Ukrainian, start looking for any other Ukrainian nationals entering the same day … in fact best make it a couple of days either side, just in case they didn't all come together."

Ryan nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Rick turned to Esposito and asked "What now?"

"Now … me and you, we start trying to make sense of your theory! You'd best use the restroom if you need to and grab some water; it's going to be a long afternoon."


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter 28 – Rockland _**

* * *

Kate ducked back down out of sight, just in case any of them should turn, and shifted towards the inner door. She was about to move out into the space behind the counter when she heard boots on the stoop outside. She froze in place, watched as one of the men cupped his hands on the glass of the front door and stuck his face between them, clearly trying to get a better view of the interior. Seconds passed and she held her breath, half-in, half-out of the doorway, not daring to move in case that in itself drew attention. The glass misted up and the man withdrew his head, turning to speak to the others.

Whatever he said seemed to satisfy them and he stepped back off the stoop. She waited, heard the sound of car doors opening and then closing. She waited … there was no sound of an engine being turned on. She edged her way towards the front of the store and keeping one of the racks of clothes between herself and the window, slowly rose until she could see out.

The escalade was pulled up next to the gas pumps, inside it she could make out the three of them turned to face each other, some earnest talking going on. The woman was being emphatic, hand striking the headrest as she made her point. Just then the fourth member walked up to the vehicle, the passenger window slid down and he leant on the door, shaking his head in negation. He obviously hadn't found 'Herbie' in the shed.

Quickly she ducked back down. She didn't know how long they'd wait for the store owner to make an appearance, or whether they'd lose patience and just break the door down. She and Sana needed to get out now!

Keeping low, she stopped at one of the racks and picked out a couple of sports bags. She'd have preferred backpacks but they were at the top and she didn't want to risk being spotted from outside. Sliding one of the bags to Sana who was still crouching where Kate had left her, she whispered for her to put their damp clothes into it. Those outside might guess they were responsible for Herbie's current condition, but the less proof they left behind, the better. Shuffling across to where the man remained stretched out on the floor she checked once again for pulse and made sure there were no obstructions to his breathing. He might have tried to retain her for their captors, but Kate was first and foremost a cop and the '_to serve and protect'_ motto was well ingrained into her being.

Turning she found the bags with the food she'd collected earlier from the shelves and transferred them into the second sportsbag. She'd have liked more time to go through the store and gather things they might need, but unfortunately they didn't have more time. Warning Sana to keep low, she made a quick check over one of the racks, saw all four people sitting inside the Escalade, grabbed the bag and shotgun and quickly led the way back behind the counter. She paused as her eyes landed on a wicker basket with cigarette lighters. She grabbed a handful, slipped them into the pocket of the padded coat she'd selected and was about to follow Sana through into the office when her eyes caught sight of the hunting knives on the wall behind her. The shelf just below held a number of boxes and with a quick glance at the front of the store, she pulled out the first she could reach. The box stated _Buck 119 Special Hunting Knife, Blade Length: 6" (15.2 cm) Carry System: Black leather sheath, Handle Material: Phenolic_.

She had no idea what a Phenolic handle was and she wasn't about to stop and find out. Slipping through the door into the office she paused long enough to drop the box into the bag with the food, rest the shotgun across it and then went to the outer door.

The keys were still in the lock from when she'd scrambled to lock the door before those on the outside reached it. Slowly she rose to her feet, angling herself so that she could see out the window towards the front of the store. The Escalade was out of sight from here. Turning back to Sana she said, "When I open the door, keep down and close to the wall, we need to keep the building between us and them. We'll head down to the barn we saw at the back and then see where we go from there ok?"

Sana nodded and Kate turned the key, keeping her fingers round the bunch of loose ones so they wouldn't rattle. Pulling the door inwards she eased her head through the doorway looking towards the front. The slightly battered, off-white pickup stood invitingly close by, just a few strides away from them. Further back, she could just make out the Ice box and the roof of the Escalade beyond it. Waving Sana through, Kate handed her the second bag, picked up the gun and quietly pulled the door to, turning the key in the lock from the outside. Pocketing the keys, she turned, saw that Sana was already halfway down the side of the building and with a last glance backwards followed her.

They rounded the corner and Kate paused, checked the surroundings before pointing towards the rusted up tractor ahead of them. She took the bag with the food from Sana and they made their way across the mud, the brown mess clinging cloyingly to their new boots. Once round the tractor, Kate led the way towards the barn that sat in the dip beyond, each time they reached one of the rusted up farm implements, she'd pause long enough to look over the top and make sure their captors weren't in pursuit.

The barn looked in surprisingly good condition considering the abandoned aspect of the machinery they'd just made their way through. The front of the barn had two large sliding doors, both closed, but inset into one of them was a smaller door which stood slightly ajar. Kate was in two minds as to what to do. Her instinct was to put as much ground between them and the people in the Escalade as possible; now that they had food and warm clothes they'd be better able to survive … however, the cop in Kate was curious as to the relative pristine condition of the barn when compared to the other farming items around them …. that and the sound of a generator which could be heard through the open door.

With a final glance up the slope towards the store, of which only the roof could be seen from here, Kate put her finger to her lips and indicated the door, then turning she pushed it further open and slid inside, eyes scanning the immediate area. Thick plastic sheeting hung from the rafters above, sealing the rest of the barn from view although she immediately guessed at its contents. Strong lighting could be seen on the other side of the sheeting and the high temperature and smell in the air was familiar to her from her days in Vice.

The chugging of the generator was louder in here and dropping her bag next to Sana, she indicated she was going to take a look. Reaching the plastic sheeting she found a gap between two of them and eased her way through.

Rows of spotlights hung from the rafters and several huge fans near the back were humming loudly. Black pipes were slung midway up, water dripping from nozzles and from front to back, cannabis plants were already above waist height. So, this was what friend Herbie was up to. Had their captors discovered it and blackmailed Herbie into helping them or was he up for it anyway?

Either way, it didn't matter, there was nothing here for them and they needed to get away. Kate headed back to the front and as she reached Sana asked if it was all clear outside. The girl nodded and they sneaked out, leaving the door as they'd found it. Quickly they moved down the side of the barn, Kate's rumbling stomach reminding her that they needed to eat something soon.

A small stream cut across the ground at the back of the barn and the ploughed land on the other side sloped up towards more forest. Kate wanted to keep the track in sight; it would eventually lead them to civilization or peter out into nothing. Heading up to the forest above would lead them away from the track and the open land would expose them to the passengers of the Escalade or anyone else driving along the track, but keeping too close to it could also increase the risk of being spotted.

They could hide out close by, in the hope that the Escalade would leave and she and Sana could use the pickup to get away … too many ifs and buts though. She told Sana to hold up and slipped her hand into the sports bag she was carrying. Pulling out a box of energy bars she emptied the contents into Sana's cupped hands and replaced the box in the bag. Taking three of the six bars she told Sana to start eating and to make sure she put the empty wrappers in her pocket … no traces of their passing to be left. Sana nodded, hungrily tore the first wrapper apart and began to chew on the fruit bar, a smile of pleasure lighting her pale face.

Kate's answering grin changed to a small hum of pleasure as she bit into the first of hers. Slinging the strap of the sports bag over her shoulder, she slipped the other two bars into a pocket, hefted the gun and led Sana down to the stream. She checked they were still out of sight of the store and looked westwards along the streambed. It ran slightly downhill in gentle swerves as it meandered around the hills around them; downhill was good, in all probability it meant a river and rivers would lead to the coast or a lake … and civilization.

Some vegetation grew along the edge of the stream, honeysuckle, striped maple and beech saplings, she also thought she could make out common wood sorrel and bunchberry … days wondering the woods near the cabin with her father were turning out to be useful. Most of the vegetation was low, nothing large, the scattered maple and beech stood taller, but the thin trunks offered little cover. However, if they kept low and moved slowly, they should be able to avoid detection.

Kate stepped to the edge and warning Sana to be careful where she put her feet, began to follow the stream. They paused when they reached a tangle of honeysuckle and Kate looked back the way they'd come. The barn was now about five hundred meters away and from here she could make out the ground sloping upwards as far as the rear corner of the store. Everything remained quiet by the looks of it. She pulled out the second energy bar, ripped the wrapper and bit into it as she turned to continue along the stream. They'd covered about the same distance again before Kate found a suitable place to stop, a small spread of beech offering them sufficient cover. Looking back she could now see as far as the front of the store; the Escalade was no longer parked out front, she thought it was one of the pickups from the farmhouse that had taken its place. She watched for several minutes, sipping water from one of the bottles they'd refilled from the stream. There didn't seem to be any movement.

Kate turned back to the sports bag and pulled out a packet of dried fruit. The bars had gone down a treat, but they still needed plenty of nutrition. Sana held out a hand and Kate poured some of the fruit mix into her palm then did the same for herself before slipping the packet into her pocket where it would be easy to reach. Zipping closed the bag, she stood, bounced a little to adjust the strap more comfortably and glanced up at the sky.

The grey cloud cover was beginning to break up to the east, a few patches of dirty blue beginning to show through. She guessed they must have been on the move for about two hours since waking up in the shack …. it must be around eight o'clock, though with no sunlight and shadows it was difficult to make an educated guess.

They moved along the stream for another hour, pausing whenever they reached open spaces to check back behind them or listening for vehicles on the track which they assumed still run along above them. The growth on either side of the stream was getting thicker, the angle dropping down more and a couple of feeder streams they'd crossed had increased the flow of water. It now tinkled and trilled over stones and small cascades, deeper pools appearing occasionally.

Kate called a halt when they reached a bend in the stream which offered ample cover and a small, cleared area which was obviously popular for camping. A ring of stones surrounded the washed-out remains of a fire, the blackened stones indicating frequent use. A bit of a fire and something hot to drink would be wonderful, but a quick check around told her that what little wood there was in the surrounding growth was soaking wet from the night's downpour. Lighting it would result in more smoke than heat ... a giveaway they couldn't risk.

Kate decided to leave Sana in charge of the bags while she went up the hill to check on the track, debating on whether or not she should leave the shotgun behind. Sana was not used to weapons, but she was also a sensible young woman. Deciding eventually that it was best to leave her with some method of defence, Kate explained the workings of the shotgun and warned her not to shoot at anything until she could actually see what it was. Fishing out the knife from the bag, she removed it from the box, slid the blade into the sheath and slipped that into the top of her boot.

Turning a last time to check that Sana was ok, she then began to climb up the hillside. The going was tougher than she'd thought, the incline steeper than back at the store. By the time she reached the crest, she was breathing hard, a thin layer of sweat on her brow. As the ground began to level out, she moved more cautiously, stopping every now and then to listen.

Using a small white pine as cover, she straightened up and peered through the thin branches near the top. She found herself several meters from a bend in the track. More importantly, it was no longer a dirt track, it was a tarmacked road! The surface was cracked and split, the edges rough with broken up chunks of bitumen and weeds sprouting through the fissures … but they were certainly headed in the right direction!


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 29 – Timeline _**

* * *

Rick checked the last of the sheets before replacing it at the end of the folder. The door opened and Ryan entered accompanied by the Captain. The two pulled out chairs and joined Esposito at the table as Rick flipped the contents of the folder over so that he was back at the first item. Yesterday afternoon, he Esposito and Ryan had gone through the available data and thrown theories back and forth. This morning it was time to present their case to the Captain and see where he decided to take this.

He was used to speaking in public; not just as an inquisitive journalist at some committee hearing, but also as an author talking to his fans at readings or on the occasional book tour. This felt a little bit more nail-biting … after all, people's lives were at stake. Montgomery nodded at him and Rick glanced down at the top photo in the folder, took a couple of seconds to sort things in his mind and began to speak.

"When I first looked into the case, one of the things which several people brought up was Detective Beckett's belief that there was more to her mother's accident than just a chance incident. Part of this was due to the disappearance of Yegor Kruskov, the driver of the second truck involved in the pile-up. However, my contact in Ukraine failed to find anything to tie Kruskov into organised crime or some international conspiracy. He appears to have been a pretty normal, unremarkable character who happened to lose his mother to cancer at a relatively early age. This may have triggered a dependency on alcohol which led to a spiralling downfall and his death in jail. I can't see any connection to Detective Beckett or her mother with the information available, so I'm inclined to discard Kruskov as a key player …"

He left the end of the sentence as a question, and received nods of agreement from the three cops who had already read edited copies of 'Ivan's' report. Picking up the first of the photos from his folder, Rick used a magnetic clip to place it on the board. He repeated the procedure with another three pictures and then wrote 1996 above them. Deliberately he left a small space between the first and second pair of photos.

"This is Kate Beckett, aged seventeen, during her student exchange time in Kiev. The pictures were supplied to me by her father," deciding that the Captain didn't need to know about Lanie searching Beckett's apartment for some of them. "If you look at these two pictures on the left, I think you'll agree that Beckett was more than interested in Roman Lasyk, the kid sitting next to her …" glancing at the two pictures as he said so. The first showed them sitting together on a swing seat, thighs, arms and shoulders touching and a young, relaxed Kate Beckett looking up at the grinning Roman with bright, sparkling eyes. Even with the slightly grainy image of the enlarged photos, the emotion was clear. The second one was obviously a kid's bedroom and showed a little blonde girl stretched out on her bed. A young Kate was sitting near the pillow, folding a piece of paper into a plane and Roman sat just behind her, his arm over her shoulder as he pointed something out … all three were laughing.

"If you look at these though, I think you'll agree something went south between them, look at how Beckett is pushed up against the seat arm leaving plenty of space between them, her shoulders are stiff and she appears to be carefully studying her hands … in this other one, she's staring at Roman's back as he leaves, there's no love lost in that look! I've had a body language expert look at them and she agrees that there's a before and after … what happened, we don't know, it could have been something totally childish and irrelevant … we all know how teens can blow up a simple situation into Armageddon … but I think it's worth keeping this in mind."

Checking that the others were still with him, he pulled out the next sheet of paper and pegged it to the board. The printed sheet had two photos at the top and a couple of paragraphs of text below. "The Lasyk parents, Andrey and Elena. Andrey was born in Mykolaiv of mixed Russian Ukrainian parentage, father a soldier form Smolensk in Russia, mother a Ukrainian from Odessa, a port city on the Black Sea in southern Ukraine. Elena was born and bred in Kiev. Neither appears to have been political activists nor do they have any criminal records. They held responsible jobs and were vetted by the ASEP, the non-profit organization that arranged the student exchange program. Andrey Lasyk died in two-oh-seven from coronary disease and Elena continues to work as a secretary for AHG Architectural Services, the same company she's been with for over twenty years."

He lifted the next sheet from the folder and paused a moment, holding it up as he added, "This is new, it arrived yesterday and I didn't find it until I got home last night, I'm not sure how relevant it could be," turning to peg it to the board next to the Lasyks before turning back to face the others. "The report is on Anatoly Lasyk, Andrey's father. I'm not sure how much is relevant, but one item did catch my eye; he's a retired major of the 9th Engineer-Sapper Battalion and very outspoken in favour of Russian control of the Ukraine. It's possible that grandpa Lasyk may have influenced young Roman."

The next sheet came up and he shook his head gently before turning to peg it on the board. "Yanina Tyahnybok. Twenty-two-year-old Law student at the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kiev …. that by the way is the same university Oksana Lasyk is studying art at. It seems that she and the Lasyks have been friends for the best part of fifteen years, but note this, in two-thousand-eight, just over a year ago; she filed a restraining order against one Roman Lasyk. My contact is trying to get a look at the court records to see just what reason she gave, but I have a feeling it might not be a first occurrence. He's also trying to get hold of phone records for the month leading up to Yanina's trip over here, see if the Lasyk name pops up in that time."

"You realise Castle, that none of this can be used in a court of law here? Unless you can prove these records have been legally obtained ..."

"Captain, are you more interested in finding Detective Beckett or in pressing criminal charges?"

"You have a point there … forget I mentioned it!"

Rick caught the glint of humour and almost imperceptible nod from Esposito and pinned up the next sheet. "Oksana Lasyk … I'm told by Doctor Parish that Detective Beckett refers to her as Sana … third year art student at the National University of Kiev. Quiet, reserved, no political affiliations and has kept in touch with Detective Beckett over the years, mainly through social media though there's been no activity for over a month now and according to fellow students, a lot of information seems to have been wiped off her profile."

Lifting up the next sheet he held it almost like a trophy. "Roman Lasyk …" turning to pin it up next to the sister's, "…. age thirty-tree, ex member of the ninth independent Special Forces Brigade GRU, for those of us who only know about the Russian army from watching films, that's Spetsnaz, elite military formations under the control of the military intelligence service. In nineteen-ninety-nine, Colonel General Viktor S. Chechevatov was dismissed as District commander for refusing to take an oath of loyalty to Ukraine … Roman, along with several others walked out with him. This is where I'm wondering how much influence Grandpa Lasyk had on his grandson. Roman then joined a group called Red Banner, they initially organised pro-Russian rallies and marches, but more recently they're suspected of organising a number attacks against Ukrainian infrastructures; gas pipes, power stations, communication networks as well as ammunition storage facilities and even attacks against Ukrainian army units."

He paused for a sip of water and then ran a finger over the picture of Roman Lasyk. "Although everyone's denying it, my paper's Foreign Affairs editor confirmed that last August there were rumours of a naval storage facility at Sevastopol being raided and though the Russians claimed the attack failed and nothing was stolen, some suspect that the facility held nuclear devices …. and I'm told a small tactical warhead will fit inside a suitcase."

Pausing as he closed the now almost empty folder, Rick glanced across the table at the other three, then directed his glance to the Captain. "I know that the presumption that Roman Lasyk is over here with the purpose of carrying out a terrorist attack is a bit crazy to say the least, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me as a journalist and writer …. I think it's possible that Roman came over here with the intention of disrupting US, Ukrainian relations …. that his sister somehow found out and came over with her friend Yanina Tyahnybok to try and stop him. Perhaps Oksana contacted Detective Beckett for help and that led, directly or indirectly to Yanina's death and the disappearance of the two of them. If they are still alive, are they being held because of the relationship, as bargaining chips, or to be used in some way?" With that, Rick pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, taking another sip of water as Esposito stood, moved round the table to the boards, set down a sheet of paper and picked up a marker.

"Although I'll admit both Ryan and me think it's a crazy proposition, it does fit most of the unknowns. The first thing we did yesterday was to contact Customs and Immigration to see if any of our people of interest arrived in the country through normal channels," drawing a line up from the sheet of paper representing Yanina Tyahnybok, he continued. "We already knew from the murder investigation that Miss Tyahnybok arrived by UIA …. that's Ukraine International Airlines at JFK on Monday the seventeenth of January. We received the passenger manifest from the flight last night but none of the names matched our people of interest."

He glanced a moment at the board then continued, "We've requested Immigration to send us a list of any Ukrainian nationals entering up to a week before and one after the seventeenth, just in case their arrival was staggered, but with so many possible points of entry, it's going to take days to go through the videos, which is why we really need to confirm that these pictures are up to date. We've sent a request to the Ukrainian government through the State Department for updated photos of Roman, Anatoli and Oksana so that we can put them through facial recognition; it might help us to pick them up if they entered the country legally or came through a point of entry under false papers."

"Ryan's also sent out a request for any vehicle or property rentals to Ukrainian nationals within the tristate; cross-referencing them with recent arrivals might help us narrow the field down. If we can find even one of them entering, then we should have a better idea of the timeline we're working with." He paused to glance at the paper and then continued.

"We think it's still too soon to bring in the FBI, they'll be more interested in catching Roman than getting Beckett back alive …" glancing quickly at the Captain and catching an almost imperceptible nod. "Homeland already has a system in place to alert them to any thefts of explosives or chemicals that can be used in bomb making; we've requested we be notified if any red flags pop up in the tristate area …. told them we thought one of the Bronx gangs might be after some ... not sure they swallowed it, but hopefully they'll let us know if anyone reports missing explosives or chemicals." Another pause and glance down at the sheet of paper.

"If they brought in their own ingredients, then we just have to hope it sets off the alarms; airport, dockyard and border entry points have radiation detectors which should go off if anything gets moved in or out through them, but if it's been dropped off a boat along some quiet stretch of coast or brought in on a private yacht or something, we won't know until it's too late. We can only hope to catch them before they set it off."

"Tori's put Yanina Tyahnybok's face through facial rec and we're looking at security and traffic cams around the hotel, see if we can pick up any of our suspects, now that we have a possible connection, we might be lucky!"

Esposito glanced back at the board then turned back to face Montgomery. "We just need one break sir, catch one of these bastards on camera and we'll have something to leverage the lid off!" His voice was quiet, intense, almost pleading. Rick turned his head to look at the Captain. Montgomery was staring at the boards set across the inner office windows. There were several photos, sheets of paper, a black timeline and very little information. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, threw a glance at Rick and then took a long look at each of the two detectives. Pushing back his chair he stood, "Forty-eight hours gentlemen, that's all I can give you, then we have to kick this upwards, and you'd best pray to god they don't set off any bombs before then!"

They watched the door close behind the Captain then Esposito turned to face them, "Right, you heard the man, let's get on with this."

"How soon before the State Department hears back from the Ukrainians?" asked Rick.

Esposito shrugged despondently, "Anyone's guess, depends on whether anyone got out on the wrong side of bed or not, could be twenty-four hours or a week."

Rick nodded, "I'll see if Yuri can get something confirmed for us …."

"Yuri?" Interrupted Ryan.

Rick shrugged as he stood, "Yuri, Ivan, whatever … his real name's probably Nikolai or something!"


	30. Chapter 30

**_Chapter 30 – TOR _**

* * *

Rick sat comfortably ensconced in the corner of the couch, Alexis half-tucked in under his shoulder, her legs trailing over his lap and swinging gently over the edge of the cushion. Her exercise book was open in her lap, a pencil pursed against her lips. "So, Jeremy had 7 pencils. He lost 3 of them. How many pencils does he have now?" She looked up at him in scorn and he exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders and pulled a face, "hey, don't blame me if it's too easy!"

He watched as she wrote a four into the box and hid a grin. She was way too smart, even if he had seen her surreptitiously using her fingers in her lap to check the result. With the last exercise completed, he helped her down off his lap and with a pat on her backside, told her to go wash her hands while he got dinner ready.

It was after nine when he eventually made it into his office, closing the door behind him and pulling the second-hand laptop out of the drawer he kept it in. He plugged in the charger … damned battery only lasted about ten minutes …. and switched it on.

He launched the TOR browser, clicked on the Mail2Tor link and waited for the service to load. As soon as it was ready he typed in the email address Yuri had sent him and then began to write.

_Hello Ivan, _

_Characters for the new book are of interest but I need a better picture of the brother, sister and grandfather; maybe something a bit more up to date? Not sure if the haircuts are a little dated, do people still wear their hair like that?_

_Also, perhaps you could include names and descriptions of some of the brother's friends, I think they could well form part of the plot. I'm thinking of having them smuggle something into the country, maybe something dangerous, do you think it would be better to have them bring it by sea or by air? I know the complexities of getting something like that into this country, but how complex to get it out of yours?_

_How is the research into the court case and phones going?_

_I have transferred the second instalment to cover for your research, let me know if you need anything else. _

_Z._

He read over his email and had to grin. He was getting more and more like Yuri, next he'd be coding the damned thing. He was signing off as Z given the zapros id Yuri had originally sent him. He'd googled the word and found it meant inquiry or investigation … he'd then looked up the Kot i mysh password only to laugh out loud as he'd discovered it meant Cat and mouse.

Rick clicked the send button, put the laptop aside and opened up his work one. He'd been evasive over the last week or so whenever the Leprechaun asked how the story was coming. Larry had assumed that he was hot on the trail of financial skulduggery … the closer Rick was to finishing a story the more evasive he tended to become … and he'd allowed Larry to mistakenly assume he was working on the Wall Street story. The shit would hit the fan when he found out he was doing nothing of the sort, but a tale of international terrorism should go some way to smoothing the Irishman's ruffled feathers.

He opened the word document, waited for it to load and read through the last edition, making minor changes as he went. For the moment he was using fictitious names and locations, just in case someone should accidentally get hold of this computer … he chuckled out loud, his paranoia was increasing exponentially.

Depending on how this thing with the missing detective went, he'd either have a hell of a story or nothing printable. He was putting a lot of background into the article, the sort of information his readers would appreciate if they were to understand the whys and wherefores, and right now he needed to find out about the Red Banner brigade.

He was about to google them when the other laptop pinged. He set one aside and picked up the other, placing it on his lap as he hooked his feet onto an open drawer.

_Hello Z_

_Attached you will find more up-to-date descriptions for the brother and sister, I can assure you the fashion is of the latest, you can find similar haircuts on many student cards and driving licences. _

_I will have to work a bit on the grandfather's description, and also of the friends. Attached is a picture of a similar group to the one we are considering, but I would have to decide who would be the closer ones to the brother. _

_I believe it would be much more difficult to get something into your area than out of mine. Here a few hryvnia go a long way and there are many willing to risk sailing at night from a quiet part of the coast. I would need much more information if you wish me to develop this idea?_

_I am expecting news from the court some time tomorrow, hopefully I will also be able to give you information on the calls. _

_Your instalment received and very welcome, this research is getting a little more expensive that previously considered._

_I._

Rick sent back a brief acknowledgement and then downloaded the attached files onto a flash drive; Tory would be able to do whatever trickery was needed on the pictures to get them into facial recognition. He removed the drive, turned off the laptop and settled down to work on the article still adorning the screen of his other computer.

The following morning was cab weather, a pale sun was doing its valiant best to pierce the scudding white clouds above, but a blustery wind was blowing down off the Hudson and funnelled by the tall buildings of Lower Manhattan, it was sending both empty paper cups and pedestrians scudding across sidewalks.

Rick stepped out of the cab outside the Twelfth, hurried up the steps and shouldered his way through the doors. He was rubbing his hands and blowing out his cheeks as he reached the desk. Morales, the desk sergeant nodded to him, spun the visitor book for him to sign and handed over the _Consultant_ pass. Rick hid a grin as he considered the slight improvement in relations over the last couple of days. To most of the cops in the Twelfth, he was just an unknown civilian, to the homicide floor he was the journalist slash consultant who disappeared into the ops room and was to be occasionally found pulling faces by the coffee machine in the breakroom. The biggest change had been with the two detectives and especially surprising had been Esposito. He'd expected Ryan to break first, the Irishman was naturally friendly and would be more inclined to ease off on the hard act, yet it had been the Latino who had accepted him first, once convinced that Rick might have the right idea, he'd been ready to accept the journalists input. They weren't yet buddies, he doubted they ever would be, but the hard act had been dropped and he was willing to listen to Rick's ideas.

The lift came to its usual shuddering stop at the fourth and he followed a couple of cops out, one of them, the short, curly-haired female in plain clothes he thought was a Detective Kapovski or Karpowski, and he followed her until she turned into the bullpen. He carried on as far as the breakroom, poured himself a disgusting cup of coffee that tasted like a monkey'd peed in battery acid and then headed for the room where Tory Ellis played with her gizmos …. It reminded Rick of a neater and cleaner version of the geek's grotto.

"Hi Tory, brought you something, thought it might help," and handed her both the coffee and the flash drive. The NYPD Tech officer didn't bat an eyelid and Rick admired her aplomb … anyone who could take that coffee without throwing it straight back in your face deserved admiration!

Tory plugged the flash drive into the socket and cup into her mouth and Rick amusedly wondered which would blow up first. It appeared that both flash drives and NYPD Officers were built of stern stuff. "What have I got here?" she asked as the contents of the flash drive appeared on the screen.

"Photos of Roman and Oksana Lasyk, I'm told they're current, I think taken from a driving license and a student card."

Tory blew out her cheeks then released a breath as she opened the first one up. "Ok, that's not so bad … decent resolution … should be able to do something with this."

"How does facial rec work exactly?" asked Rick.

Tory turned her head, considered him a moment then pointed to the screen.

"Every face has numerous, distinguishable landmarks, the different peaks and valleys that make up our facial features. This software defines those landmarks as nodal points. Each human face has approximately 80 nodal points and by measuring things like the distance between the eyes, width of the nose, depth of the eye sockets, shape of the cheekbones or the length of the jaw line, it converts the nodal points into a numerical code called a faceprint. The faceprint's stored in the database and when we need to recognise someone from a photo or a video frame, the software compares that person's faceprint with the ones in the database. If the information's there, there's a good chance we'll be able to identify the person." She tapped a couple of keys and clicked the mouse, then took a step back. Rick watched as green dots began to appear on the photo of Roman Lasyk, thin dotted lines appearing and disappearing as more dots were formed.

"You say a good chance, just how accurate is it?"

"Well, it depends on the quality of the image to start with, not just the quality of the image being used for the faceprint, also the quality of the image your trying to compare it with, I mean if you have a great picture for the database but then try comparing it to someone walking down a dark street at night … well, it's not going to be very successful. You can also screw the whole system up by using dazzle makeup, a mask or even just a wig."

"Dazzle makeup?"

"Uh-huh, weird makeup that breaks up the dark and light areas of your face …"

"You mean like the camouflage cream soldiers use?"

"That would be one example, or it can be something like a large white patch on one cheekbone and a black one on the other; screws up the recognition algorithm."

The picture on the screen seemed to fade slightly and then a series of lines joining some of the dots began to appear. Several minutes later _Scanning complete_ appeared and a form popped up to one side. Tory filled in the information, clicked the save button and then loaded Oksana's picture. The process began all over again and Rick thanked her for the information before turning and heading down the hallway to the Ops room.

He pushed the door open and stuck his head through. Both Ryan and Esposito were sitting at the table, a cascade of sheets scattered between them as they discussed the information. They looked up and Ryan said, "Morning Castle, what you doing here so early?"

"Brought some stuff over for Tory; up-to-date pictures of Roman and Oksana, she's putting them into facial rec right now. You two want a decent coffee? I'm heading across the road to pick one up, don't know how you guys can drink that stuff that passes as coffee from the breakroom!"

"We're cops Castle, not delicate little flowers," grinned Esposito.

"Well this delicate little flower is going to get coffee without monkey pee …?" eyebrows raised in inquiry even as he began to back out. He grinned as two orders were called out and he closed the door behind him.

By mid-morning, all three of them were grouped round the screen next to Tory, watching camera footage from around the hotel area for the eighteenth of January, the night of Yanina's murder, the facial recognition software running comparisons against the faces that fleetingly appeared. Knowing that there was a good chance the software would fail to pick up any of the perps, especially as the onscreen evening turned to night, they were all watching attentively in the hope they would pick up on something the software wouldn't.

It was Ryann who caught the couple entering the hotel, just as the man let the woman through the door, he turned to look down the street. The picture wasn't sharp, but something had caught the detective's eye. Unlike in fiction, technology was still a long way away from converting low res, grainy images into high res, instantly recognisable photos. Tory zoomed in on the doorway as much as she could without the image pixelating too much and they all looked at the photo of Roman Lasyk and compared it to the grainy image on the screen. There was a definite possibility, the cut of the hair, the line of the jaw ….

Ryan pointed to the time stamp on the video; 23:17. It gave them a time to work from. "Ok, run it back slowly, let's see where they came from …"

"They came down east thirty-second. What cams do we have at the Lexington and thirty-second intersection?" Tory fed the traffic cam footage onto a second screen and she slowly ran it, all of them trying to pick out the couple from the hotel … "There!"

It was difficult to make them out clearly in the video, but the pale raincoat the woman wore was a match and the tall man by her side wore the same or similar dark pants. "Ok, where do they go from here, run it backwards …."

They followed the couple as they walked backwards across Lexington and turned northwards towards East thirty-third. Footage from the next traffic cam failed to show them and they thought they'd lost them, but then found them again just past the traffic lights on the next block.

"Is that an SUV they're getting out of?"

"Looks like an Escalade"

"Can you make out the number?"

"No, angle's wrong and the car parked in front is blocking the plates."

"What about the passengers?"

"Let's see if we can do both, just a sec …" Tory ran the film backwards slowly until they saw the Escalade moving forwards out of the gap. She let it run back a few more frames until it showed it double-parked with the indicators flashing and then ran it forwards at normal speed until it showed the Escalade was reversing into the gap. She hit the pause and zoomed in on the windows. Despite the reflections of overhead lights, they could make out the driver and passenger fairly clearly. The passenger was almost definitely Roman, the driver was a short, thickset individual with close-cropped hair. Through the windscreen they could just make out the pale patch of the woman's coat in the back seat, and another vague shape which they couldn't make out clearly enough. Tory then dragged the image up and sideways until the front of the vehicle was now in the centre of the screen. The plates were slightly blurred with the video paused, but it was clear enough to make out most of the numbers. Esposito made a note, the plate looked a bit mud-spattered and the last two digits weren't clear, but they should have enough, assuming the vehicle was legal and not carrying false plates.

When he'd finished, Tory ran the film forwards at normal speed again and they watched as several seconds went by before the two sidewalk doors opened and Roman and the woman stepped out. She froze the film and they tried to get a good look at the woman, but her hair was covering most of her face.


End file.
